


You're Freaking Out

by Sarah_Sandwich



Series: Freak Out Verse [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: BAMF Harley Keener, BAMF Miles Morales, BAMF Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harley Keener as Iron Lad, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, New Chapters on Wednesdays, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Protective Harley Keener, Protective Peter Parker, Teacher Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, that wasn't a tag yet so wtf you guys guess i gotta write more bamf miles content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 166,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Sandwich/pseuds/Sarah_Sandwich
Summary: There’s a new spider kid on the block and it’s up to Peter to teach him how to deal with his newfound abilities and keep him from getting in over his head. One thing is for sure, he owes Mr. Stark some serious apologies.Then he falls through a portal into an alternate universe and things get… complicated.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Miles Morales & Peter Parker
Series: Freak Out Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713709
Comments: 412
Kudos: 393
Collections: A lire





	1. Anyway, here’s Miles

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back :)

[ ](https://imgur.com/iHEeimU)

~ **Miles** ~

Miles flinches and covers his ears as the driver beside him lays on their horn. People stream around him on the sidewalk as he stumbles. He bumps into someone and they shove him but he only belatedly remembers to let them move him, leading to another awkward stumble.

The hot August sun is blinding, reflecting off of windows and windshields everywhere he looks. It reeks like hot garbage. He can’t see. He can’t breathe.

And the _noise._ The noise is incredible. Voices permeate every second of every day. Tires on pavement, honking, air conditioners and fans roaring, TVs blaring, the high-pitched whine of electronics, toilets flushing. _Always_ toilets flushing. It’s everywhere, all the time! It’s unbearable. He’d do anything for a moment of silence. If the world would stop and take a breath then maybe he could catch his. He hasn’t slept in weeks, only managing to snatch a few hours here and there as exhaustion overtakes him.

He raises a hand to shield his eyes and squints up at the towering skyscraper above him.

What is he doing here? This is a mistake. He shouldn’t be here. Avengers Tower? What was he thinking? He’s going to end up on some government watchlist. They’re going to notify his parents, pull him out of school, and send him to that mutant school upstate. His life is over if he walks through those doors.

But… it was Spider-Man he called, not the Avengers. He can trust Spidey, right? He seemed alright in the subway tunnel and again on the phone yesterday. Awkward and kinda dorky, but _real._ He’s not like Captain America—polished and well-spoken and bold—or Iron Man—brazen and cocky and confident. He seemed like a regular person. Relatable. Not a billionaire. Not a national icon. Just a person who wants to help. Who _told him_ he would help.

That’s what brought him here, to the lobby of Stark Industries. Well, almost to the lobby. He hasn’t summoned the courage to go inside yet. Surely, it’ll be quieter in there. Maybe—

“Hey, are you Miles?”

He has to blink a few times to get his eyes to adjust against the glare so he can make out the shaggy blonde-haired boy poking his head out the front door. Then he blinks a few more times because there’s no way Harley Keener is talking to him right now.

“Are you alright?” The Harley Keener look-alike asks and it sure as heck looks like he’s staring right at him.

He glances over his shoulder to be sure there isn’t another Miles hanging around being talked to by internet sensation and prodigy of Tony Stark, Harley Keener. There isn’t. It’s just him blocking the flow of pedestrian traffic and doing a good impression of a bad trip.

Stepping on his shoelace and nearly face-planting on the steps definitely doesn’t help that impression.

“Shit!” Harley Keener lurches forward like he’s going to help but holds back at the last second, casting a glance at the cluster of people wearing suits at the far end of the stairs. He pulls back so only his face is poking out of the door again.

“You should come inside,” he says. “You _are_ Miles, right?”

“I… Yeah.”

Harley glances at the suits again then jerks his head towards the interior of the building. “Then get in here before the vultures notice us.”

“Vultures?” He squints harder at the group and finally notices the cameras. Ah, paparazzi. That makes sense.

He follows Harley Keener into the lobby, not daring to touch anything lest he sticks, and breathes a sigh of relief as the door falls shut, muffling the sounds of the street and dimming the sun with tinted glass. The lobby is large and open and footsteps and voices echo off the polished floor but it’s not busy and it’s far better than being outside. It smells better too. Like leather and lemon-scented cleaner with hints of a million different colognes and perfumes. But hey, it’s not hot garbage so he’ll take it.

His eyes adjust and he finds Harley Keener standing in front of him, eyebrows pinched in concern and sporting an ugly purple bruise on his cheek and a cast on his arm. The obnoxious neon purple is riddled with signatures and poorly doodled stick figures.

“What happened to you?” Miles blurts. He’s been pretty out of it since the spider bite but he’s pretty sure he would have noticed the bruise and cast had they been present in the latest Iron Interns video.

“Me? You’re the one who almost passed out,” he counters.

“What? Did not!”

He’s fine. Everything is _totally_ under control.

Harley Keener shoots him a disbelieving look then shakes his head and motions for him to follow.

Miles hesitates but he’s already here. He might as well see this through. He’s also curious about what Harley Keener has to do with any of it. Is he friends with Spider-Man? Did Spider-Man ask him to meet Miles for him? Did something come up? Or did Spider-Man tell Tony Stark about him and Mr. Stark delegated the task to Harley?

He follows him to an elevator that stands separate from the main bank on the other side of the security desk and the badge-activated turnstiles. Weirdly, this elevator doesn’t seem to require any kind of badge or security vetting. As they approach, the doors slide open without so much as the press of a button. In fact, as they step inside, he sees there aren’t any buttons at all.

“Gym please, Fri,” Harley says as the doors slide shut. He glances at Miles and continues, “and dim the lights to 25%.”

The lights dim as the elevator begins its ascent and his eyes finally relax. He hadn’t realized he was still squinting.

“Thanks,” he tells Harley.

“You’re welcome,” a disembodied female voice replies.

He flinches hard, ramming his elbow against the wall, leaving a small dent. Oh come _on._

Harley grins. “Sorry, that’s F.R.I.D.A.Y. She runs the place.”

“Right,” Miles says, rubbing his sore elbow. He’s heard the rumors about the state of the art Artificial Intelligence that’s omnipresent within Avengers Tower. He’s not sure how he feels being under its scrutiny.

“You seem a bit better now,” Harley says, eyeing him critically. “You were on the brink of a full sensory overload before, weren’t you?”

Sensory overload? That sounds right.

He can’t stop staring at the bruise on his face. Did him and Peter Parker get kidnapped again? He hasn’t been _that_ out of it, has he?

“That looks like it hurts.”

Harley tenderly touches it and shrugs. “Could’ve been worse.”

Which answers exactly zero of Miles’s questions.

Harley must be able to see the curiosity in his face because he smiles a bit and says, “I take it you don’t watch the news.”

No? He’s not 60. He’s got an app for that. He mostly uses it for checking the weather but still. Besides, he’s been pretty wrapped up in his own problems lately.

His ears pop twice before the elevator finally stops. The doors open and Harley Keener leads him into a large empty gym. The floor depresses under their feet. It’s made of that same slightly squishy material that newer playgrounds have instead of sand or wood chips. There are some treadmills and punching bags and stuff off to the side, but it’s mostly just open space.

_For… fighting? Is he going to have to fight?_

The room is empty. Spider-Man isn’t here.

“Seriously?” Harley Keener grumbles, tipping his head back.

A red and blue blur drops from the ceiling and lands in front of them. Miles yells and stumbles backward while Harley Keener sighs like he’s used to these kinds of scares.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Spider-Man says. He takes an abortive step forward but keeps his distance, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

“Seriously?” Harley Keener asks again, exasperated.

“I uh,” Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck, “got bored.”

Harley Keener rolls his eyes. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Anyway, here’s Miles.”

“Right, right. Umm hi Miles. I’m… Spider-Man.”

“Yeah. I know,” Miles says, slowly. Despite his near heart attack, his nerves are starting to fade. Something about Spider-Man acting as nervous as he’s been feeling all day is comforting.

“Right. Uhh.” He crosses his arms. “I don’t really… I’m not sure where to start.”

“When did your powers show up?” Harley Keener asks, apparently taking pity on Spider-Man.

“A couple weeks ago,” Miles admits. “The day after we met.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Spider-Man asks sounding almost hurt. “You shouldn’t have— I didn’t want you to have to go through that alone like I did.”

“So you knew I was going to get… You knew what was going to happen to me?” He suspected as much after waking up with superpowers the day after Spider-Man had acted like that in the subway.

“Sort of. I wasn’t sure and then you didn’t call so I thought I was wrong and it was just a regular spider.”

“It _was_ the spider that did it then? Were you bit by a spider too? How many spiders are out there giving people superpowers?”

The big white eyes of Spider-Man’s mask go impossibly wide and he turns to look at Harley Keener. “Good question. Should we put out an ad?”

“A missed connections post on Craigslist,” Harley Keener says, smirking. “Please contact if you’ve contracted spider-like abilities and join our spider crew.”

Spider-Man laughs and Harley Keener grins, eyes crinkling fondly.

Spider-Man clears his throat. “We’ve gotten off track.”

Miles tries not to stare. It shouldn’t be so weird to see Spider-Man cracking jokes. It’s not, not really. But with Harley Keener? Maybe he should have expected them to be friends considering their shared connection to Tony Stark. They even act like they might be the same age, but that can’t be right, can it? Spider-Man’s been doing the vigilante thing for years and Harley Keener only just graduated high school.

They seem… close.

“What powers have manifested so far?” Spidey asks.

Miles’s heart drops. “So far?” he echoes. There’s going to be _more?_ The ones he’s got are already more than he can handle. How’s he going to deal with even more than this?

Spidey shrugs, somehow seeming apologetic. “Mine kind of showed up in stages. Enhanced strength and senses showed up first and then I started sticking to things. Uh, I’m not really sure when the healing factor kicked in but my Spidey sense took the longest to develop. I didn’t really get the hang of it until months after my spider bite.”

Spidey sense? Enhanced healing? He’d never considered the full extent of Spider-Man’s powers until he woke up with them. The super-strength was kind of obvious but other than that he didn’t think a thing about it. Most people don’t. But now his days and nights are plagued with sounds and smells from everywhere and everything all the time. He can’t open doors without fear of sticking to the knob. He can’t hug his mom without fear of crushing her ribs.

And there’s going to be _more?_

“How do you live like this?” he asks quietly. “Everything is so much all the time. I’m… What if I hurt someone? I can’t… I can’t do anything.”

That’s why he’s here. School is starting in a couple of weeks and he can’t do _anything._ His brain feels like it’s going to explode while he’s sitting around in his apartment with the lights off and noise-canceling headphones on. How’s he supposed to handle classrooms or hallways during passing period or the _cafeteria?_ His parents are worried and keep bringing up seeing a doctor but how could a doctor help him not hear every sound in a two-block radius? And he can’t tell his parents what’s going on without confessing to being in the subway tunnels and then his dad will know he’s doing graffiti again and then he might not let him see Uncle Aaron anymore.

Not to mention he’s not sure how his dad feels about mutants. He doesn’t like Spider-Man but is that because of the vigilante thing or because he’s a mutant or a weird intersection of the two? How will he feel about his son being just like Spider-Man?

He can’t. He can’t tell them.

“I… It was hard at first,” Spider-Man says slowly. “Your senses are way up at eleven, aren’t they?”

“All the time.”

Spider-Man nods. “There’s not a happy way to exist in New York until you learn to filter. I had a migraine for pretty much the first month after I got my powers. It helps to pick one sound and focus on it to block out the rest. I usually pick a heartbeat. It’s not perfect, but it helps. The rest, the smells and light sensitivity, you kind of get used to it. Sound was the big one though.”

“Why a heartbeat?”

He hadn’t realized he could hear heartbeats until Spider-Man said it. There’s always so many louder attention-grabbing sounds that he never picked up on it, but now that’s he’s focusing he can make out two heartbeats in this room besides his own. Spider-Man’s is a little fast but Harley Keener’s is calm and steady so he focuses on his.

“Heartbeats are quiet enough that I have to really focus if I want to hear them,” Spider-Man explains, “and they’re a constant rhythm. And…” he hesitates and glances at Harley Keener before looking away. “And depending on the person it can be calming.”

Miles hadn’t noticed until Spidey said so, but he thinks his heart rate slowed from its anxious fluttering to match Harley Keener’s steady beat. It helps cut down on outside sounds too. If he focuses he can still hear the vague chatter of employees on different floors, the clatter of someone dropping something hard and metal on the floor above them, and (of course) a flushing toilet. But he can also tune it out.

“Huh.”

“That helps?” Spider-Man asks, almost sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Umm so super strength. Is that… You’ve got that too, right? You said you’re afraid of hurting someone.”

“Yeah.” He hasn’t dared to touch anyone since he crumpled the doorknob to his bedroom. His _fingerprints_ are embedded in the metal. He’s not sure if he could hack leaving society and becoming some kind of hermit in rural New York, but he thinks it’d be his responsibility to try if he can’t figure out how to keep his strength in check. He’s _dangerous._

Spider-Man puts his hand on Miles’ shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says in a low tone. “I know it’s scary but I promise it’s manageable. It takes a lot of practice but you’ll get there.”

Miles looks up into the wide white eyes of his mask. “How? What’d you do?”

“I juggled a lot of eggs.”

Harley Keener snorts a laugh and Spider-Man turns to look at him. Miles thinks he might be smiling but it’s hard to tell.

“I would pay cash money to go back in time and watch that,” Harley Keener says. “How many cartons did you go through?”

Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck. “Uhh I don’t know exactly—,”

“Bullshit. I know you. Gimme the number.”

He _knows_ him? Like under the mask? How close are him and Spider-Man? He almost never gets mentioned on Iron Interns. You’d think if they were this close they’d have him do a guest appearance or something. The internet would break.

Spider-Man’s mask wrinkles like he’s making a pinched face of some kind and then he sighs. “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen eggs?” Miles asks, hopeful.

“Fourteen dozen,” Spider-Man admits and Harley Keener cackles. “It’s really hard at first! If you grip too hard they break and you have to toss them high enough to juggle but not too high or you lose them. It’s a delicate balance!”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Miles asks. “I don’t know how to juggle.”

Spider-Man shrugs. “Neither did I. You’ll pick it up pretty quick though.”

Miles raises his eyebrows. He’s tried juggling before, not seriously but enough to know it’s harder than it looks.

“Have you noticed that your balance is better? Hand-eye coordination?” Spider-Man asks. “I bet your reflexes have improved a lot too.”

Have they? He supposes he was pretty quick to catch his toothpaste when it fell out of the cabinet this morning, even if he did explode it all over the mirror and himself. Then again, he tripped over his shoelace and nearly biffed it not even ten minutes ago so who’s to say.

“Step one is getting some eggs,” Spider-Man says.

“A lot of eggs,” Harley Keener adds, smirking. “I’ll see what the Avengers have if you wanna raid Tony’s fridge.”

“Yeah okay.” He turns to Miles. “Did you want to come with or hang here? I don’t know how known you want to be so I get it if you’d rather chill in here. I told F.R.I.D.A.Y.—that’s Mr. Stark’s A.I.—not to let anyone else in here while you’re around.”

Hold on.

“You mean you didn’t tell them about me?”

“Of course not,” Spider-Man says.

He sounds so genuinely surprised—almost offended—that Miles immediately believes him. Profound relief loosens the tangled knot of nerves in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he’s not going to be put on a government watchlist after all.

“Listen,” Spider-Man says, “I know how terrifying all of this is and I know the importance of keeping it a secret. I’m not going to tell anyone about this unless you want me to. I mean, I guess I did sort of tell Harley but he was there when you called so the cat got out of that bag like right away.”

“I won’t tell anyone either,” Harley Keener promises. “We’ve got your back.”

He has a hard time imagining that he’ll be allowed to walk free and unknown in the world as an enhanced individual but… it’s Spider-Man. If he can trust anyone with his identity it’s him. He’s been his hero for years. While the Avengers are big names and have done some amazing things, when push comes to shove it’s Spider-Man who’s been present for the good days and the bad. For the big problems and the small. The Avengers may be the heroes of the planet, but Spider-Man is the hero of the people. And that makes all the difference.

“Okay,” Miles says. “I’ll hang here then.”

Harley knocks Spider-Man with his elbow in a familiar way as they leave the room together. As soon as the door closes behind them, Miles loses Harley’s heartbeat and all of the loud sounds come rushing back. He tries to focus on his own heartbeat but that only makes him anxious. Instead, he focuses on the steady hum of the air conditioning. It helps.

He finds a semi-comfy spot leaning back against a pillar and pulls out his phone. He waffles for a bit on whether or not he should but his curiosity gets the better of him and he opens up his news app. The very first article is headlined, “Iron Man and Spider-Man Rescued.”

He clicks it.

“ _Santo cielo,”_ he mutters.

His timing could not be worse. Did he _really_ call Spider-Man for help barely two days after he got stabbed through with rebar? Holy crap and Harley dive-bombed the rhino guy and walked away with only a broken arm and bruised face? The article is short but it includes a crappy video of an Iron Man suit flying into the rhino guy and then tumbling across several yards of hard-packed dirt before slamming into a concrete wall as Iron Man screams Harley’s name.

Why did Spider-Man agree to meet him so soon? How good is his healing that he’s already up and walking around and dropping down from the ceiling?

He opens his internet browser and digs up everything he can find about what people are saying. There’s not a lot of new information. Aside from a short press release from Stark Industries indicating Harley, Iron Man, and Spider-Man are all okay after the incident, there’s been nothing but radio silence. No one’s seen Spider-Man except for now him.

Should he say anything? No, right? He should keep his mouth shut. He’s already lucky he agreed to meet him at all, let alone after all of that. He doesn’t want to wear out his welcome by bringing up painful topics.

Soon enough, he hears footsteps trekking towards him from the elevator.

“Do what you’re comfortable with,” Harley is saying. “All I’m saying is I think it would help. Trust is a two-way street, you know?”

“I know. I’ll think about it.”

The gym doors whoosh open and the pair enter the room, Spider-Man carrying several egg cartons while Harley cradles only two to his chest with his good arm.

He seems fine. It doesn’t look like Spider-Man is struggling with all of those eggs. No limp. No hesitation. He’s just… fine. How good is his healing? Is Miles’s going to be like that?

“Hey, so Harley is going to run to the store and get more, but this will last us a little while. You wanna get started?”

Miles stands, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Yeah I guess.”

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” Harley sets down his eggs in a stack on the floor and stiffly stands back up. He departs with a wave, leaving Miles alone with Spider-Man.

“Uhh so I’ll show you how it’s done,” Spider-Man says. He plucks three eggs out of one of the cartons and tosses them lightly into the air one-by-one until all three are in the air cycling between his hands. “See? Pretty easy once you get the hang of it. Stopping is hard though.”

He catches all of the eggs but two of them smack into each other in his hand and one breaks. “Aw beans. Maybe we should have put down newspaper or something. Mr. Stark’s gonna be pissed if we get egg all over his new floor.” He pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll just wipe it down really well when we’re done. He won’t be able to tell. You wanna give it a try?”

“Sure,” Miles mumbles.

He’s going to make a fool of himself in front of Spider-Man. At least there’s one less person in the room to witness it.

He gingerly picks up three eggs, cradling them in his palms as stares down at them. Unbidden, he imagines tossing one and it flying all the way up through the ceiling. Worse, what if he crushes one in his grip before it ever leaves his hand? They’re so delicate. He feels like the Hulk at a tea party.

He shoves the images out of his mind and tries to quell his nerves. It doesn’t work.

He takes a step back from Spider-Man—the last thing he wants is to splatter the superhero with raw egg—and prepares to toss the first egg.

It sticks to his hand.

“Oh come on. Not now,” he groans.

He shakes his hand roughly before realizing what a terrible idea that is. Instead, he grabs it with his other hand and pulls but it’s stuck tight and now his thumb and forefinger are stuck to it too. He yanks to free his fingers and the whole egg explodes apart in his face.

Tears of frustration and humiliation well up in his eyes. No. No, no, no, no, no. He is _not_ going to cry in front of Spider-Man.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Spider-Man darts over to a shelf stacked with clean, neatly folded white towels and holds one to Miles.

Miles stares at it with trepidation as a glob of egg drips off his chin. Is he going to stick to the towel too? Is it worth the risk? How stupid will he look walking around with eggs and a towel stuck to his hands? How _long_ will he stick this time? He got stuck in the bathroom for three hours the other day when his fingers caught on the toilet as he tried to close it. His mom almost made him go to the doctor to talk about his ‘bowel issues’.

“Ahh,” Spider-Man says, seeming to catch onto his train of thought. “I’ll just… If you don’t mind.”

Miles closes his eyes, cheeks burning hot enough to cook the egg, as his favorite superhero quickly wipes the towel over his face until he no longer feels slimy.

Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.

“I forgot how much of a pain the stickiness was at first,” Spider-Man says. “I made a complete idiot of myself in front of the entire cafeteria at school.”

A spike of curiosity pokes through his humiliation. Everyone knows Spider-Man is kinda young but he’s so secretive that no one has been able to pin down his age for sure. Did he get his powers while he was in high school, like Miles? How did he do it? He’s panicking just thinking about how he’s going to survive school like this.

“How do you turn it off?” he asks instead of the millions of questions about who Spider-Man is that are floating around in his head. _Are you like me? Did you have to do this at my age? How? How did you keep it together?_

“You just kinda relax. Umm, it’s not an exact science, unfortunately. Once you’ve calmed down just imagine yourself releasing the egg and uhh, that should trigger whatever it is to let go. After a while, it becomes second nature and you don’t have to think about it so much but it’s a huge pain in the butt at first.”

Miles takes a deep breath and pushes it back out but doesn’t feel any calmer. Maybe if Spider-Man would leave the room he could… but no. He can’t ask that. The thought of offending Spidey sends his heart thundering all over again.

“What do you do to unwind?” Spider-Man asks.

“Draw,” Miles mutters. “Or listen to music.”

“Maybe think about your favorite song then. Or I could play it if you want.”

“Uhh that’s okay.” It takes a moment to remember the beat and the melody but it comes to him and he closes his eyes and hums it softly to himself. It takes until the chorus but finally, he can move the eggs freely in his hands.

“Hey, good job!” Spidey says. “It gets easier, I swear. Soon you’ll be able to turn it off and on without even thinking about it.”

Miles sighs. That day seems distant from where he’s standing. All that work and he hasn’t even started yet.

“You ready to give it a try?” Spidey asks, holding out a new egg to replace the one Miles exploded.

“Yeah okay,” Miles says. He accepts the egg and tries to ignore his embarrassment. If he can pretend Spider-Man isn’t watching, maybe this will go a little easier.

He tosses the first egg into the air and it rockets up to the ceiling, falling just short of the air ducts before it begins to fall. Spider-Man catches it with deft fingers and hands it back to him.

“Try it again. You’re doing great.”

He sighs. He doesn’t feel like he’s doing great.

This time it splatters against the ceiling and rains yolk and eggshell on their heads. This is gonna take awhile.

~ **Peter** ~

Three hours and dozens of eggs later, Miles has some semblance of control over not only his strength but his stickiness as well. Peter shows him to the locker room where he can shower the egg off and then him and Harley begin cleaning the floor.

“What do you think?” he asks Harley, tone low to avoid being overheard. It’s strange having to be wary of someone else’s enhanced senses. “He seems like a good kid, right?”

Harley, on his knees a few feet away scrubbing half-dried egg off the floor, sets aside his rag and says, “He seems fine.”

“Only fine?” Peter asks, pausing in his scrubbing to sit on his heels facing him.

Maybe he’s blowing this a little out of proportion. Maybe Miles won’t do anything with his powers. Maybe he’ll be happy to pretend to be a normal kid and nothing terrible will happen that sends him down the path of vigilantism. Maybe he’ll be satisfied with an average life.

But maybe he won’t be. That’s what he can’t get out of his head. Is Miles a good person? He thinks so. Is he the kind of person that can handle the stress of being a vigilante? Will he make the right calls? Will he buckle under the strain? Peter didn’t ask how old he is but he’s clearly young. Maybe even younger than Peter was when he got bit.

“I mean, he seems like a good kid but… I dunno,” Harley says.

He sits back on his heels with a grunt and a wince. He hasn’t said anything, but Peter’s noticed he’s been moving stiffly since his stint as Iron Lad the other day. He’s been waiting for him to fess up so he doesn’t have to corner him and demand to know how hurt he is but so far no dice.

“I feel bad for him. His whole life just flipped on its head and for what? What’s he going to do with his powers? Is he going to do anything? I just… I know he’s not much younger than you were when you got your powers but he’s just starting high school. He’s supposed to be worrying about classes and fitting in, not whether or not he’s going to accidentally crush someone’s hand when he’s meeting them for the first time.”

For a moment Peter is relieved to hear his own concerns reflected back at him and to know he’s not alone in his thoughts. Then the rest of what Harley said sinks in.

“Wait,” Peter says. “How do you know he’s starting high school?”

Harley shoots him a flat look. “Obviously I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. look him up.”

Horror crashes over him like a bucket of ice water. “What? Why would you do that? That’s a major invasion of—,”

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Harley interrupts. “I’m not gonna stalk the kid, but I needed to make sure he wasn’t gonna be trouble. And he doesn’t seem like he’s going to be. Like I said, good kid. Second,” he continues loudly as Peter opens his mouth, “I get the feeling that we’re the only ones who know. That means we’re the only ones that have his back and that’s a major responsibility. We need to know where to find him if there’s an emergency. Home address, school, that kind of thing.”

“Oh my God, you know where he _lives?”_ he moans. He feels dirty. He promised Miles they would respect his privacy and this is how they uphold that promise? “You shouldn’t have done that. God, Harley.”

Harley sets his jaw. “I’m not— Look. I get that it’s different for you. You’ve already lived this. But all I can think is, what if it was Abbie? What if she was on her own trying to wrap her arms around something like this? I’d want whoever knew about it to make sure she was okay and to take it seriously.”

“I _am_ taking this seriously,” he snaps.

“No I know, I know,” Harley says quickly. “I’m not explaining myself very well. I just… This is bigger than what Miles wants and I know that smacks too close to how Tony ran things with you. That’s partly why I didn’t tell you. I don’t… I’m okay with being the bad guy if it means keeping Miles safe. I didn’t want to rope you into that role with me.”

He doesn’t know what to say. What Harley did was wrong. It was an invasion of privacy. But… a small part of him is glad he did it because he’s also right. It’s in Miles’s best interest that they know where to find him if something happens and he needs their help.

He hates how he went about it.

“We have to tell him,” he says.

Harley watches him. His expression doesn’t betray whether or not he agrees.

“We can’t keep secrets from him,” Peter continues. He takes a deep breath. “And that’s why I’m gonna tell him who I am. I can’t justify knowing everything about him while he doesn’t even know my face.”

“Woah, okay. First of all, you don’t know anything about him. I do. Second—,”

“It’s _fair_ this way,” he interrupts

“It’s not about _fair._ Things don’t always have to be _fair.”_

“But if I have to ability to make things fair then shouldn’t I?”

Harley stares at him for a long moment before a bitter smile curls his lips. “I forget sometimes how good you are.” The smile turns into a frown. “I meant what I said earlier. You should only tell him who you are if you’re comfortable doing that. I don’t want to be the reason you feel like you have to reveal your identity to anyone.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

An injured expression sparks across Harley’s face.

He didn’t say it to be mean but it’s the truth. He knows he won’t be able to keep helping Miles if all he can think about is how they went behind his back. He can’t take back what Harley did, but he can make things right. It’s not like he wasn’t already considering revealing his identity to Miles, but he’d have liked for it to be on his terms when he was sure it was the right decision.

“I’m sorry,” Harley says softly.

“I know.” Peter doesn’t look at him and instead resumes scrubbing the floor.

“Is… everything okay?” Miles asks. He approaches slowly from the locker room. His hair is damp and his skin is clean, but there are dried splatters of egg on his t-shirt.

Peter makes a mental note to offer him one of his to wear home. God knows he has plenty and once Miles knows who he is, the science puns will no longer be a dead giveaway.

“I gotta tell you something, Miles,” Harley says before Peter can think of where to start.

“Okay? Did I mess up?”

“No, I think I did. You wanna pop a squat?” He pats the ground and Miles hesitantly sits down equidistant between them.

“I looked you up,” Harley says without preamble.

Miles stiffens. “What?”

“I wanted… I needed to make sure you weren’t going to…”

“Attack you? Rob you?”

Harley shakes his head. “We invited you into our _home._ I had to make sure that you weren’t some psycho, okay? And also, we’re the only ones you’ve told, right?”

He waits and after a moment Miles nods jerkily.

“You should tell someone,” Peter blurts. “Someone you trust.”

“I did,” Miles says, looking confused. “I told you.”

Like a boot to the chest, those words knock him back. Oh God, is that what this is? He can’t… He can’t be the Mr. Stark to Miles’s Spider-Man. He’s not… He can’t _be_ that. He’s just Peter Parker. He’s no Iron Man. What is he _doing?_

“I think he means someone who can be there for you day in and day out,” Harley says kindly. “Like your mom or dad or—,”

“I can’t tell my dad,” Miles says, going tense as his heart rate speeds up. “Is that why you looked me up? So you could tell my parents? You _can’t_ tell my dad.”

“No, no, no,” Harley says. “I just wanted to know where to find you in case you ever needed help. We promised not to tell anyone and we won’t. Not even your parents, I swear. I’m sorry I went behind your back. I should have just talked to you, but Pe-,” Harley screws up his mouth in a frustrated grimace. “Spidey didn’t know about it until like 30 seconds before you walked back in here so if you’re pissed then it should just be at me.”

Miles stares at Harley and then glances at Peter and then back to Harley. Peter can practically hear him putting the pieces together.

Well, he’s never revealed his identity to anyone on his terms before so why start now, right?

“Fuck,” Harley says, looking at Peter with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Peter says. He pulls off his mask and Miles’s eyes go wide. “I was gonna tell him anyway.”

“Oh,” Miles says. “That makes sense.”

Barely remembering that his face is no longer hidden by his mask, he tries to keep his panic from showing in his expression. “D-Does it? Do you think people are close to figuring it out? I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle with the timing on Peter Parker starting his internship and Spider-Man getting a serious Stark upgrade.”

“I mean, no? I don’t think so?” Miles says. “I was just saying… I was sort of starting to think Harley was cheating on you with Spider-Man.” He laughs awkwardly.

Peter’s face flushes and he glances at Harley out of the corner of his eye to find him looking stricken.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Miles says. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Peter smiles weakly. “Thanks, Miles. Do you need a ride home? A clean shirt?”

He glances down at his shirt and scratches at some of the egg with a fingernail. “Nah, I’ve looked worse. I’ll fit right in on the subway.”

That’s a good mentality for a vigila—

_No. Stop it! That’s not what this is!_

Miles climbs to his feet and Peter copies him. Harley remains on the ground, weirdly silent.

“Call me if you need anything or have questions, okay?” Peter says. “Seriously. I don’t want you to be alone like I was while trying to figure all of this out.”

“Okay.” Miles bites his lip, hesitating, and then asks in a rush, “How did you do it? How did you do Spider-Man and school and everything? Just thinking about trying to keep this a secret when school starts is making me sweat.”

“I— Badly, if I’m being honest. It got a lot easier when my friend Ned found out. Before that, I was kind of lying to him a lot and blowing him off. It’s kind of a miracle that he’s still friends with me.”

His hand subconsciously goes to his wrist where his bracelets are hidden by the suit as a pang of longing plucks his heartstrings like a harp. It’s only been a few weeks but it feels like so much longer since he saw his best friends.

“It’ll be easier for you,” he says. “I promise. We’re gonna help you.”

“Okay,” Miles says, trust blatant on his face.

It makes him want to puke. The new responsibility rests heavily on his shoulders.

“I’ll walk you down,” Peter offers.

Miles raises an eyebrow and glances down at his suit.

Peter makes a face. “Or maybe Harley can…”

Miles glances at Harley who’s still sitting and staring at the floor. “That’s okay. I’ll find my way. Thanks for everything, Spidey.”

~ **Harley** ~

He can feel Peter’s eyes on him but he can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. He can’t believe he fucked up so bad. He feels sick. It doesn’t matter that Peter was already considering telling Miles. It doesn’t matter that Miles promised not to tell anyone. He completely blew Peter’s secret identity and in more ways than one. Not only did he almost say his f _ucking name,_ but apparently he’s been treating him the same way he treats Peter Parker and it was noticeable enough that Miles was practically able to put it together after only a few hours.

He doesn’t deserve to be close to Peter if he can’t even keep his most fundamental secret.

“Harley,” Peter says.

He doesn’t say anything else and Harley doesn’t respond other than to get to his feet. He still can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. What would he find there? Anger? Disappointment? Resentment?

“Where are you going?” Peter asks.

He doesn’t know. There’s still egg on the floor. He can’t leave Peter to clean it himself. His arm may be broken and his body sore and bruised, but Peter was _impaled_ only a couple of days ago. Healing factor or no, that’s kind of a big deal.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice comes out raw and somehow softer than he expects.

“I said it’s okay. I was going to tell him anyway.”

Harley shakes his head and kneels again, picking up a rag. “That’s not— That doesn’t matter. I should be able to…” He trails off, frustrated at the thoughts in his head that won’t form into words and arrange themselves into sentences. He scrubs harder. “I shouldn’t be around Spider-Man when people who don’t know who you are are around. I can’t— I can’t be trusted.”

“Harley, I trust you.”

Harley throws down the rag and looks up to meet Peter’s concerned stare. Concerned? He should be _disgusted._ At least half as disgusted as he is with himself.

“You shouldn’t. I fucked up so bad.”

“It was an accident.”

“There shouldn’t _be_ any accidents. This is your _life._ May’s life. Ned’s life. MJ’s. I can’t… We can’t afford to mess up. I’m too unreliable.”

“It was one time Harley.”

 _“Twice._ Abby was first, remember? I just keep fucking up.”

Peter doesn’t respond. He can feel his eyes on him but he can’t bring himself to meet them. He sighs and stiffly picks up the rag. They need to finish cleaning this up and then… Then he can figure out what to do next.

Peter’s gaze is heavy on his back for a long beat before he sighs and resumes scrubbing as well.

When the floor is finally clean, Harley tries to retreat to his room but Peter stops him with a hand on his elbow.

He sighs. “Peter, I don’t—,”

“Let’s go on a date,” Peter says quickly.

Harley blinks at him. “What? Tonight?” They still have a few hours until the sun sets but it feels so much later. It’s been a long day. A long week. A long month.

“Yeah,” Peter says, an anxious wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Uh, where to?” Harley asks, wracking his brain for anything they could do that doesn’t require movement but also won’t leave him confined in a chair for three hours. He’ll get all locked up if he sits too long.

“We could go bowling or roller skating or there’s this cool laser tag place that just opened up in Queens.”

Peter looks so hopeful that he almost agrees, aching body be damned.

“I… I can’t.”

The anxiety in Peter’s face intensifies. “Why not? We don’t have anything else going on and I can’t patrol yet.”

“I know,” Harley says, pained. “It’s not that.”

Peter’s expression hardens. “Don’t do this. We’re supposed to be a team. And I… I love you. You can’t— You can’t just—,”

Tears well up in Peter’s eyes and Harley’s stomach drops to his toes. He can’t do anything right.

“Hey, hey I love you too.” He steps into Peter’s space and takes his hand with his good one. “I just… I can’t do any of those things. Not today.”

“Why not?” Peter asks, glaring up at him, lashes damp and brown eyes shining brightly.

He’s so beautiful. He wants to kiss him but his lips are pressed together in a hard thin line and his jaw is set stubbornly.

“I uh…” He pulls a face and looks away. “I’m hurtin’ pretty bad. I think cleaning the floor did me in for the day. Sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asks, his tone losing its hard edge. “Your arm?”

“Yeah, but like, all over too.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harley shoots him a look. “You got _impaled._ I can handle some bruises.”

“Bruises?” Peter echoes, gaze sharpening as he looks Harley from head to toe.

Fuck, he should have kept his mouth shut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he lies weakly.

Peter shakes his hand free from Harley’s grip and takes a step back, crossing his arms. “Show me.”

“Uh, here? What if someone—,”

“Upstairs then.”

Harley lets Peter tow him by the wrist to the elevator while his heart rate ramps up to an embarrassing level. He knows Peter is listening to it but there’s nothing he can do to keep it steady as he imagines him and Peter alone in a bedroom while Harley takes off his clothes and Peter watches.

Then he remembers how disgusting he looks and he calms down. Peter’s no sadist so there’s no way he’s going to be anything but horrified when he sees what Harley’s been hiding under his clothes.

They travel in silence and when the elevator stops, Peter tugs him down the hall to his room. Good thing too. There’s been a weird stench in Harley’s room since yesterday and he hasn’t been able to pin down what’s causing it. Not that he’s put in the time or effort to try, but still. It stinks. Peter’s room isn’t any neater but at least it smells like Bumpurr’s lavender-scented kitty litter instead of whatever’s rotting in Harley’s room.

Peter shuts the door and doesn’t allow more than a moment for tension to start building in the pit of Harley’s stomach before he crosses his arms over his chest and jerks his chin at him. “Show me,” he demands.

Harley hesitates and Peter raises his eyebrows in a way that does nothing to persuade Harley not to start making out with him.

“Dude, seriously,” Peter says.

Harley sighs and grabs the hem of his shirt. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Harley does as he’s told. Lifting his arms over his head hurts and his shirt gets stuck on his cast, but he manages to get it off.

Peter sucks in a sharp breath.

“Jesus, Harley,” he breathes, uncrossing his arms. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want it to be a big deal,” he mutters. Everyone was focused on Peter and his life-threatening injury and Harley was happy to let them. He doesn’t need people falling all over him just because he got a little banged up.

“You’re an idiot,” Peter tells him. He steps closer, still staring at the myriad of blotchy purple bruises covering his torso and creeping around his biceps and over his shoulders. Some of them are already starting to tinge green on the edges as they begin to heal but it only serves to make them look worse. “Have you been taking pain meds?”

“Dr. Cho gave me some for my arm but I didn’t want to be all fuzzy with Miles over.” _Not that it mattered,_ he doesn’t add. He still fucked up epically and gave away Peter’s secret identity. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself for that.

“Lay down. I’ll go get them. Where are they?”

“My room, but—,”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I can—,”

“Shut up and do as I say,” Peter says as he opens the door.

“Okay but—,”

“No buts!” Peter interrupts and then shuts the door behind him.

“It stinks in there,” Harley mutters to the empty bedroom.

He’ll figure it out. Maybe he can use his super sniffer to suss out the source and take care of whatever it is so he doesn’t have to. He eases his poor abused body onto the bed and sighs in relief when he’s finally horizontal. He’s exhausted, he realizes. Completely worn out from a full day on his feet. He can barely keep his eyes open. Maybe if he rests them for just a few—

The door flies open and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

 _“What_ is that _smell?”_ Peter demands, slamming the door shut.

Harley sighs and relaxes back against the pillow, closing his eyes. “I was hoping you’d figure it out for me.”

“I could hardly breathe in there. I’m not going back in there until you take care of it.”

“I tried to warn you.”

Peter ignores him. “This says you should take one every four hours. When was your last dose?”

“Uhh, this morning.”

Peter makes an unhappy sound in his throat and the pills clatter inside the bottle as he shakes one out. “Take this. There’s a Gatorade on the nightstand.”

Harley cracks open an eye and accepts the offered pill before laboriously sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor. He picks up the Gatorade. “Ugh, yellow. How old is this?” He holds up the bottle to the light and squints at it suspiciously.

“Only a couple days. Yellow’s classic.”

Harley grunts and washes down the pill with a grimace. “Purple is better. Dark purple. None of that frost crap.”

He replaces the bottle on the nightstand and lays down on his back.

Peter rolls his eyes and deftly climbs over him to the side of the bed next to the wall. He lays on his side and takes Harley’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

Harley shoots him a look before letting his eyes fall shut again. “The same as five seconds ago. Give it ten minutes and then it’s probably gonna knock me out.”

“Ten minutes, huh? I can work with that.”

Harley wrenches his eyes open to find Peter already staring back with a shy smile.

Harley leans up to meet his kiss, ignoring the protest from his abused muscles. Peter’s lips are warm and soft and his touch is gentle has he pushes Harley’s shoulder back down against the bed and follows him down. Harley sifts his hands through Peter’s hair, threading soft curls between his fingers.

“Is this okay?” Peter asks against the corner of his mouth.

“‘Course,” Harley breathes. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You were upset. You sounded like…” Peter trails off and ducks his chin, but Harley catches the worried pucker between his eyebrows and the way he bites his lip.

Harley cups his cheek. “Sounded like what? I’m not mad at you.”

_Only myself. Furious with myself._

“No, I know. It’s just…” Peter pulls back until he’s sitting on his knees. He doesn’t look at Harley as he mutters, “It sounded like you thought we weren’t working out. Like you wanted to…”

“What? No,” Harley says, heart in his throat. He props himself up on his elbows wincing at the pull in his abdomen. “No. I said I’m in it for the long haul and I meant it. I just… I don’t think I should be around when you’re Spider-Man.” He tweaks the collar of his suit. “It’s… At least not until I learn to separate you from him.”

“I _am_ Spider-Man,” Peter says. “I can’t just—,”

“I _know._ I’m not asking you to do anything or be anyone. It’s me. I’m the problem. I’ve got to figure out how to keep your secret, but until then we shouldn’t risk it. Right?” He meets Peter’s eyes, the stubborn set to his jaw. “There’s too much at stake.”

Peter works his jaw and then finally, he nods. “Fine. But you… You’re not going to break up with me, right?”

“Of course not. Shit, Pete. Of course not. I’m stupid in love with you, you idiot.”

Peter sniffs and a wobbly smile tugs his lips. “Okay good. I was worried. I’m stupid in love with you too.”

“Get down here,” Harley tells him, lying back and holding out his arm for Peter to tuck under.

He’s still covered neck to toes in his suit, but he doesn’t hesitate to curl up against Harley’s side and tuck his face into the side of his neck.

Sometimes it hits him that he’s dating a superhero and the world tilts. Peter is always soft and kind and goofy with him but he’s seen Spider-Man in action. He knows of the ruthless efficiency he uses to take down criminals. He’s seen footage of him stopping speeding cars with his bare hands. He thinks some people would find it unnerving, scary even, how different he can be at the drop of a hat, but it only makes Harley admire him more. The deliberate care he takes in how he treats everyone despite his strength is one of the many things that awes him.

Peter kisses his neck in a trail up to his jaw then props himself up on his elbow and presses several feather-light kisses to Harley’s bruised cheek.

“What’re you doin’?” Harley asks breathlessly.

“Gotta kiss your boo-boos all better.”

Harley snorts. “There’s too many.”

He slips a hand down to Peter’s cheek and tries to guide him to his mouth for a real kiss but Peter ducks away and drops a series of kisses, soft as air, along his collarbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his pulse flutters wildly. “Peter.”

Peter looks up and the look in his eyes steals his breath away.

“Let me take care of you.”

“‘Kay,” he agrees helplessly.

He can’t say no when Peter looks at him like that.

Peter returns to pressing delicate, careful kisses all over his torso. His eyes flutter shut and he keeps one hand in Peter’s hair, anchoring himself as he threatens to drift away. Peter kisses the soft skin just above his hips and he gasps at the tickling sensation.

Peter looks up. “Good?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” Harley gasps. He peels his eyes open, wondering when he shut them and meets Peter’s dark gaze. “God, I love you so much.”

Peter grins impishly. “Love you too. It’s why I gotta take care of you. D’you think healing kisses is one of my spider powers?”

Harley snorts. “Guess we’ll find out. You gonna document your findings?”

“Gotta.” He resumes caressing Harley’s skin with his lips. “For science.”

“I dunno how I feel about control groups for this study.”

Peter hums thoughtfully and kisses the knob of Harley’s hipbone. “Variables,” he murmurs.

Harley’s eyes drift closed as Peter’s lips dot sporadically across his belly. “You got a hypothesis? Can’t science without a hypothesis.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

Harley shivers as Peter begins to make his way back up his other side and his fingers trail lightly across his ribs. “You gonna tell me?”

Peter doesn’t answer as he nuzzles against the side of Harley’s neck and then brushes his lips along his jaw. Harley gasps and he’s sure he looks a mess but he doesn’t care. Peter can take him apart any time he wants and he’ll lay down and welcome it. Peter kisses this tip of his nose and Harley opens his eyes to find him hovering over him, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, and arms trembling on either side of his head.

“It’ll work, but only on you.”

“That’d be good,” Harley says. He wouldn’t want Peter going around kissing anyone else.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

What he wants to know is why Peter’s lips are scant inches away and yet he isn’t kissing him, but dutifully he asks, “Why?”

Peter pecks a kiss to Harley’s lips but it’s over before he can enjoy it. He makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and it earns him a grin as Peter slinks back down to resume painting his chest with kisses.

“Why?” Harley asks again.

“True love,” Peter says and then blows a raspberry against Harley’s stomach. Harley yelps and squirms away, nearly toppling off the edge of the bed as Peter laughs.

“Fuck you, Parker,” Harley gasps, pressing a hand to his stomach.

Peter grins at him, eyes alight with happiness, and Harley breaks. He uses his good hand to shove Peter to the bed, pinning him by his shoulder, and then throws a leg over his hips. Peter’s eyes go wide but he lets him.

“My turn.”

“Harley,” Peter says on a breath of air.

Harley leans down and skims his lips against Peter’s, reveling in Peter’s light gasp before he plunges forward and kisses him with everything he’s got. Peter arches under him and a low whine escapes his throat. Peter’s hands grip his hips like branding irons, forever emblazoning him with his touch. Their lips part and Harley leaves Peter gasping for air as he trails wet open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His stupid suit is covering so much skin.

“Harley,” Peter pants.

“Good?” Harley murmurs, pausing to let him answer.

“Y-yeah. Maybe s-slow down though. Holy shit.”

Harley gentles his touch, easing up on how much weight he’s putting into holding him down and lightens his kisses, mimicking Peter’s feather-light brushes against his jaw and over his cheeks.

“Oh,” Peter says, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Harley takes advantage of his inattention and softly captures his lips for only a few scant moments before releasing them and returning to plastering him with tiny chaste kisses anywhere he can find skin.

“Enough to drive you crazy, isn’t it?” he says when Peter gasps.

“Y-yeah. Don’t stop.”

The words go straight to his groin. He taps the spider emblem on Peter’s chest and the suit relaxes around him. He tugs at it until Peter gets with the program and helps him roll it down to his waist.

His eyes are immediately drawn to the still-healing wound just to the side of his belly button and his heart stops in his chest. It was only two days ago that he’d been speared through but the wound is already sealed over and ringed with a sickly yellow-green bruise.

He ghosts his fingers around the outside of the bruising, soft as a whisper. He almost lost him. He almost woke up this morning in a world lacking Peter Parker.

“Harley.” Peter’s hand cups his cheek and lifts his chin until his eyes tear away from the wound and meet Peter’s. “I’m okay.”

“I almost lost you.” The words claw his throat as they rip free.

“You didn’t,” Peter says forcefully. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls in a deep breath and collects himself, sending the wave of grief and horror back down into the inky depths of his mind where he doesn’t have to think about it. He meticulously lays a blanket of sweet and soft kisses around the wound and then expands it over Peter’s toned stomach and up across his chest.

A wave of dizziness crests over him.

He wavers on his knees, bracing himself with his good arm, and then slumps forward to rest his forehead against Peter’s chest until the spell passes.

“Harley?”

“‘M okay. Meds are kickin’ in. Makes me kinda dizzy at first.”

“Lay down,” Peter tells him.

Harley wants to argue that he wasn’t done ravishing him, but on the heels of the dizzy spell comes a surge of exhaustion. He was already worn out from being active all day while his body worked double-time to heal, so the sleepy side-effect of his pain medication threatens to knock him out cold.

With a petulant grunt, he does as he’s told and lays down, resting his cheek against the soft patch of skin that bridges Peter’s shoulder and chest and sprawling his heavy limbs across his chest and thighs.

“Dammit,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Wasn’t done.”

Peter snorts and kisses his forehead. “Next time.”

“‘M tired.”

“So sleep,” Peter tells him. His hand finds its way into Harley’s hair and begins playing with the strands.

Harley’s eyes droop and then close. His mind begins to drift, already fuzzy with exhaustion. “Don’t wanna. Wanna stay here with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Want you to know, when I pass out it’s not cuz I’m not 2,000% into this.” His tongue feels thick and heavy.

Peter laughs and presses another kiss to his forehead. “I know. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

The word leaves his lips before he can reel it back. He doesn’t like being needy and clingy, but _fuck._ His boyfriend is lucky to be alive and it’s been a long ass day and he _hurts._ He just wants… He wants Peter to stay and to hold him and to promise that he’ll never go anywhere Harley can’t follow, even if he has to use that goddamn Iron suit to get there.

“I promise,” Peter says. And then, “I love you.”

A tentative peace flutters over him like a worn and familiar blanket.

“Love you back, Spider Baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!!! I'm so happy to be back! Kudo! Comment! Tell me what you think so far! Then come find me on Tumblr at Sarah-Sandwich if you don't mind the occasional excerpt from chapters to come :)


	2. You’re thinking about this way too hard, buddy

~ **Peter** ~

“Yeah, just like that! You’re doing it!”

Pride like nothing Peter’s ever felt before swells in his chest as Miles juggles five eggs, exerting the perfect amount of force to get them airborne without launching them to the ceiling and just the right grip strength to keep from crushing them.

Miles laughs, grinning with open-mouthed delight. “Holy crap! How do I stop?”

“Toss them to me.”

Miles grits his teeth and one by one tosses the eggs over to Peter instead of up into the air as they cycle through his hands. He catches the last two eggs as they fall from the air and turns to face Peter with an amazed grin.

“I did it!”

“I think you’re ready for school tomorrow.”

Miles’s smile falters.

He hasn’t said as much but he’s been anxious about the beginning of the school year and Peter doesn’t blame him. Over the past two weeks, they’ve made a lot of progress in getting control of his new powers. He’s got a good handle on his strength and says he’s been sleeping better at night despite his enhanced senses. The perpetual headache even fades away sometimes now. He still struggles with sticking to things accidentally, but it’s way less frequent than it was and now with a little concentration, he can usually unstick himself within a few seconds. He doesn’t even have to hum anymore!

Of course, the real test will be tomorrow. His nerves will already be stretched thin from starting a new school where he doesn’t know anyone so he’ll have to be extra careful.

“You went to a STEM school, didn’t you?” Miles asks.

“Yeah. The classes weren’t too bad and the extracurriculars were pretty cool.” Or at least they were before he became Spider-Man and quit all of them. None of them could compete with the high that follows swinging over the streets and looking out for his people.

“What about the other people though?” Miles asks. “What if they’re all stuck up? I’m just… I’m the poor kid that won the lottery to get to go to their fancy school.”

“I don’t know if ‘stuck up’ is the term I’d use, but there will be some of them that feel… threatened by you.”

“Threatened?” Miles asks incredulously. “By me?”

“Because you got in on merit and they paid their way in,” Peter says, thinking of Flash and the way he was always trying to prove he wasn’t there just because of his parents’ money, but he could never quite keep up with Peter. It doesn’t excuse the way he treated him for their entire four years together at Midtown, but he gets it. He’d been relieved to find out they were going their separate ways for college. “But just because they’re rich doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t smart or good people. Who knows, you could find your best friend there.”

He touches his fingertips to the sensors on the bracelets he wears on his left wrist and within moments they both vibrate back at him—two abrupt vibrations from MJ and one long one from Ned. They’ve both settled in at their respective colleges and have already shared some interesting stories in the group chat. Ned’s roommate seems… eccentric.

“I’ve _got_ friends.” Miles puts his eggs back in the carton and then collapses onto a bench. “We were all supposed to go to the same school together and it was gonna be awesome but now I’m stuck going to this stupid rich kid school and there’s going to be uniforms and I have to start all over only this time I’m the _poor_ kid. It’s gonna suck.”

“I mean… Yeah it probably will if you go into it expecting it to suck.”

Miles shoots a flat look his way and Peter cringes. He’s pretty sure Aunt May has said that exact thing to him. Or maybe it was Uncle Ben? Oh no, what’s happening to him? He’s not ready for parenthood!

“You sound like my parents,” Miles grumbles.

Peter crinkles his nose. Aw beans.

“Sorry. Just… I dunno. Give it a shot. You’re stuck there anyway, right? Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think?”

Miles shrugs and looks away.

God, he’s screwing up this whole mentor thing, isn’t he? He doesn’t know how to be what Miles needs. He doesn’t even know what Miles is _wanting_ from him. Does he see him as a mentor or as a peer? Does he want advice or was he just trying to vent and he messed it up by getting all preachy?

This is too hard.

Miles leaves after promising to text him tomorrow after school and let him know how it went.

It’s a little early for it, but Harley’s been M.I.A. since Miles showed up and Peter’s restless after being cooped up in the tower all day and a little desperate to do something he knows he’s good at. So he slips into his suit and is just about to beat a hasty exit out the window when Mr. Stark steps into the gym.

His chest constricts and he freezes like a deer in headlights. _Did he see Miles?_ It would be just his luck if he blows Miles’s secret not even a month into this mentor thing… or whatever it is.

“Oh good you’re already suited up,” Mr. Stark says, tucking his phone into his pocket before looking up. “I was thinking we could do some training stuff.”

His mind blanks. _What?_ They’ve never really _done_ training before but Mr. Stark is wearing a tracksuit which he never wears unless he actually intends to exercise. He’s old like that.

“Training?”

“Yeah. Me and you. We’ve never tested the limits of your abilities and what you said about lifting that building got me thinking that we should put down some numbers.”

“Oh.” For some reason, disappointment settles uncomfortably in his gut. “So not really training.”

Mr. Stark shrugs. “Why not both? I’ve always been a fan of mixing business with pleasure.”

“Gross, Mr. Stark.”

He smirks. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He turns and heads for the door and Peter jogs to catch up. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

They leave the gym but instead of getting in the elevator, he follows Mr. Stark down the hall, past the locker rooms, and to a door that he swears used to lead to a weight room. Now, they step inside into a small control room with a large window directly in front of them. On the other side of the window is a strange room filled with rows of boxy structures that tower way up over his head. The walls are coated in unpolished metal sheets and the floor is the same slightly rubbery material as the gym.

“What is this?” he asks, craning his neck to look through the observation window up at the exposed ceiling far above them. It’s gotta be four stories up.

“Your new training room, designed especially for you,” Mr. Stark says, pride dripping from his tone.

“Wha— Really? Woah that’s so cool! Are those supposed to be like buildings?”

“That’s not even the cool part,” Mr. Stark says, flicking his wrist dismissively. “The cool stuff is in here.”

He hits a button on the dashboard in front of him and turns some knobs and then there’s a sound like gears turning in the big room. A panel in the wall slides open. Two flying Iron Man suits come out of it, polished to a gleaming unpainted silver, and hover in the middle of the room.

“Wha—? Am I supposed to fight those?

“Something like that,” Mr. Stark says, lips still curled into a smirk. He leans forward to a microphone and says, “Bot Two, a demonstration please.”

One of the Iron Man bots zooms towards the building-like structures and lifts its palm. Something fires out of it, but it’s not a repulsor blast. Bright orange paint splatters against the unpolished steel of one of the structures.

A delighted laugh bubbles out of him.

“You made me a paintball arena!”

“It’s a _training simulator,”_ Mr. Stark insists. “But yeah, it’s pretty cool, right?”

“It’s _so_ cool, Mr. Stark! Can I try it now? Oh man, Harley’s gotta try it too. Maybe we can get him to try out the Iron Lad armor again.”

Mr. Stark pauses thoughtfully. “That’s an idea.” He ruffles a hand through Peter’s hair. “Knew there’s a reason I keep you around.”

Peter ducks out from under his hand. “I can try it now, right?”

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. “That’s why we’re here, Underoos.”

“This is gonna be sick,” Peter says and jams his mask over his head.

“Ah ah, nope!” Mr. Stark plucks the mask right back off. “You’re not going to destroy my multi-million dollar suit with gaudy paint.”

“I’m not gonna get hit, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him.

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. “We’ll see. Now strip. I’ve got a training suit for you.”

Peter perks up. “New suit?”

“Don’t get excited. It’s nothing fancy. I figured we should have something we don’t care about getting messy.”

Peter shucks off his suit in record time while Mr. Stark opens a cabinet and pulls out a folded black suit. He unfurls it with a flourish. It’s all black with thin white webs covering the chest, forearms, and calves and there’s a white spider in the center of the chest.

“Oooo stealth mode. Gimme gimme,” Peter says, making grabby hands at the suit.

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes as he passes it over but he can’t hide the pleased smile on his lips. He loves it when Peter gushes over his creations and they both know it. Peter jams his feet into the booties and shimmies the suit over his shoulders then taps the spider emblem on the front. It shrinks around him just like his normal suit.

Mr. Stark passes him the mask which he tugs it over his head before turning to admire his reflection in the glass.

“Oh man, I look so badass.” He turns and cranes his neck around and sees another larger white spider on his back. “No offense Mr. Stark, but I think fancy is all you know how to do.”

“What can I say, kid? I’ve got class. Now slap on your web-shooters and let’s try this thing out.”

They spend the next hour running trial after trial in the paintball room. Mr. Stark hates that he keeps calling it that but that’s what it is so that’s what he’s gonna call it. His goal is to manually shut down the Iron Man bots via a switch on their backs and their goal is to plaster him with as much paint as possible and keep him from getting to the switch.

The first round is over in less than five minutes and he doesn’t get a speck of paint on his new suit.

Mr. Stark has to up the difficulty level seven times and call in four more Iron Man bots before he starts to feel like he’s getting a workout. And even then, he’s still paint-free when he walks back into the control booth.

“Shit kiddo, you were amazing in there,” Mr. Stark says before he’s even through the door. “I’m going to have to think up some new curveballs for next time so I can give you a challenge.” His eyes are bright with excitement and have that distant look to them as though he’s already churning through ideas.

Pride swells in Peter’s chest.

“Next time?” he asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound as eager as he thinks he does.

Mr. Stark shoots him a look. “Well, I didn’t build a whole training room for you only to use it once.”

“Oh no, I know I know.” He tucks his hands in his armpits and chews the inside of his cheek before he summons his courage. “I just… Both of us? Like, we’ll keep training together?” he asks hopefully.

Mr. Stark sniffs and looks away and Peter’s heart sinks. He should’ve known Mr. Stark would have better things to do than watch him flip around a room playing games.

“After watching you today I think it’s pretty obvious how out of touch I am with your abilities. I’ve already been thinking it’s about time I started taking this mentor thing seriously but today hammered that home.”

Peter stares at him, mind racing. “Wait. That’s a yes, isn’t it? That means you want us to train together, right? Like a for real Spider-Man and Iron Man team up? That’s what you’re saying?”

A fond smile twists Mr. Stark’s lips and he ruffles Peter’s hair. “Yeah, kid. It’s a yes.”

“Oh man, this is gonna be so cool! I just figured out how to do this new move that’s like, so awesome. You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

“Can’t wait to see it. You ready for part two?”

“Yeah let’s do it! You gonna suit up for this one?”

“Nah, this will only take a couple of minutes and then we can do some sparring after.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, kid. For real.”

“Well, what are we waiting for then? Let’s go!”

Mr. Stark leads them to yet another room that Peter swears hadn’t been here before. _When did he do all of this?_ This one is much smaller than the first and is like a weird mix between a gym and a research lab. The strange equipment looks like it’s never been used before and Peter can’t figure out if it’s for exercising or not.

“What is all this?”

“This is how we’re going to get those numbers I mentioned earlier. Not only do I want to see what you can do, I want to know _exactly_ what you can do. I had Cap try it all out first so we could jump right in.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Peter eyes the equipment with trepidation. He’s not sure why he’s never tried to test the extent of his abilities. It wouldn’t have been hard. He just… He’s not sure he wants to know what his limits. If he knows what he _can’t_ do then he might not try or he might hesitate or overthink it. If he _doesn’t_ know then he’ll jump in and do his best like he’s been doing this whole time. It sounds insane and dangerous but it’s a technique that hasn’t let him down yet and he’s been doing this for three years now.

“What?” Mr. Stark asks.

“Nothing,” he says too quickly. “Where uh… Where d’you want to start?”

Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything as he regards Peter with shrewd eyes. “No. We’re not doing this. This game where you pretend like you’re fine when you’re obviously not? I’m not playing. Tell me what it is that’s bothering you.”

“I’m not— I’m not bothered,” Peter lies. “I’m a nervous tester, that’s all.”

“Bullshit. The truth, Pete.”

Peter doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to hear Mr. Stark tell him he’s being silly or reckless.

Mr. Stark sighs. “Look. This is… I need this, okay? This isn’t a pass/fail situation. I need these numbers for my own peace of mind so that when you’re out there facing down whatever God-awful thing this city throws at you, I can look at the numbers and know you’ll be okay. It’s not… It’s not about you. Not really. But if you don’t want to do this I won’t make you. I just… It would help me.”

Peter chews the inside of his cheek and stares at the floor. It makes sense. Mr. Stark has always put more faith in numbers than in people. He just… he doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t.

“I’ll do it,” he finally says, “but don’t… Don’t tell me, okay?”

Mr. Stark frowns at him. “Okay. You wanna tell me why not?”

Peter pulls a face and tries to explain. “If I know the numbers then I’ll be thinking about them instead of trusting my abilities. It’d be a distraction.”

Mr. Stark nods. “I can respect that. So I was thinking we could start easy and measure strength.” He leads the way across the room and Peter trails after him, bewildered at how easily he accepted his concerns. “We can do agility and endurance and all that other mumbo jumbo some other time. They’ll take longer.”

Mr. Stark pats a hand on a machine that looks more like a carnival game than a sophisticated machine designed for scientific studies. There’s a box on the ground with a bar on top making it look like something in a cartoon that an animated coyote would plunge down to blow up a pile of TNT.

“This baby measures foot pounds of force exerted by lifting the hand bar. Nothing too fancy. Wanna give it a try? Don’t worry about breaking it. I used vibranium.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath. “Where’d you get vibranium? I thought we used the last of it.”

Mr. Stark waves a hand dismissively. “I got more. Don’t worry about it.”

Peter narrows his eyes but doesn’t press the issue. He’s starting to sweat. He’d been joking before about being a nervous tester but man oh man is he nervous.

“Give it a try. Just pull up as hard as you can.”

“As hard as I can?” he echoes. He doesn’t think he’s ever done that before. It sounds terrifying.

“Yep. Let her rip, kiddo.”

Peter wipes his palms against his thighs even though his sweat is already being wicked away from his skin by his gloves. Mr. Stark goes to stand next to a screen and angles it away so Peter can no longer see it. He taps it a couple of times.

“Whenever you’re ready, kid.”

Peter releases a breath and then puts his hands on the t-bar.

“You’re thinking about this way too hard, buddy. Just pick it up. No big deal, right? You pick stuff up all the time. Give it a try. Pick it up.”

Peter yanks on the handle but the box doesn’t budge.

“Good, now try for real. A long pull.”

Peter huffs and adjusts his grip and then pulls. The box still doesn’t budge which is good, right? It’s not supposed to. He doesn’t want to break Mr. Stark’s brand new thing.

“Hmm,” Mr. Stark says, frowning at his screen. “You don’t happen to be holding back, do you? Like… a lot?”

Peter’s cheeks heat. “Maybe a little,” he admits.

Mr. Stark sighs. “Kid, I would be delighted if you tore that thing right out of the floor. The stronger you are, the less I need to worry about you. Just pull as hard as you can, okay? Don’t worry about anything else. This is just a measurement.”

“Alright,” Peter mumbles. He sets his feet and pulls until he feels the box shift upward ever so slightly from where it’s bolted down to the floor. Or maybe it's the floor that shifts.

“Better,” Mr. Stark says, but he’s still frowning.

Peter bites his lip. “Are we done?”

Mr. Stark glances up at him and then back down to his screen. He sighs. “Yeah, we can be done. Next time I want you to stop holding back.”

“I wasn’t holding back!”

Mr. Stark shoots him a skeptical look. “Pete, I’ve seen you catch a speeding car with your bare hands and not even stumble. I know you don’t want to know the numbers, but what I measured there wasn’t even close to what it would take to do that. Whether you realize it or not, you’re holding back.”

Peter ducks his head.

“Hey, hey this isn’t anything to be ashamed about. You’ve held yourself in check for three years. Maybe it takes the adrenaline in the moment for you to be able to let go and do what you need to do. Whatever it is though, you’ve got no reason to feel anything but pride in your abilities. You got that? You’re amazing, Spider-Man, and don’t forget it.”

Peter clears his throat. “Yeah, okay,” he says softly. “Thanks Mr. Stark.”

“Ready to kick my ass? I’m not as spry as I once was so make sure you take it easy on me.”

“I would never hurt you,” he says gravely.

Mr. Stark shoots him an exasperated look. “I know, squirt. Let’s see if I can give you a workout and then maybe we can grab some ice cream after. It’s been a while since we hung out just you and me. What d’you say?”

Peter lights up. “Yeah, that sounds great! Can we go to that one place that has the spinny sign out front?”

“The one with the giant ice cream cones? Whatever you want, kiddo.”

“Yes! C’mon, I really wanna show you that new move!”

“Does it involve free falling?”

“Only a little!”

“Alright. Do your worst.”

~ **Harley** ~

A familiar backpack drops on top of the desk next to Harley, quickly followed by a body collapsing into the chair. Fucking finally. It’s their first day of classes and Peter disappeared after their mid-day coffee run and missed the first ten minutes of their Engineering Graphics class.

“Where the fuck have you—,” he cuts off mid-whisper as he looks up and catches sight of Peter’s face.

With a sigh, he uses his sleeve to delicately wipe a smear of blood from his eyebrow. Peter winces but holds still. “You look like you ran face-first into a wall.”

“I mean, that’s not inaccurate,” Peter whispers as he gingerly prods at his nose and cheekbones. His skin is splotchy and red and already beginning to bruise. There’s a small cut on his forehead but it’s no longer bleeding.

“Fix your hair,” Harley tells him as he passes him the copy of the syllabus he’d grabbed for him. “You haven’t missed much. Just the usual treating us like we’re too dumb to know how to read the syllabus on our own.”

Peter shoots him a sharp look. “Don’t complain about easy classes.”

He snorts softly and refocuses on what the professor is saying about not accepting late work blah blah blah.

Half an hour later, class is dismissed and they’re free for the rest of the day, which is good because Peter’s face is starting to look bad. They manage to slip out of the room without attracting the attention of their classmates and hurry out of the building.

A couple of blocks away, the sidewalk is blocked off with crime scene tape. Harley turns to Peter with raised eyebrows.

“Armed robbery at that corner store turned hostage situation,” Peter explains quickly under his breath as he steers Harley to the opposite side of the street. “Robber was demanding $500 but she didn’t have that much in the register.”

“Well…” Harley says slowly, eying the shattered front window and the bullet holes dotting the splintered front door, “good thing Spidey was in the neighborhood.”

Peter looks surprised for a second before he smiles down at his shoes.

It used to bother him when Peter acted like this. Like he’s surprised when Harley doesn’t get mad at him when being Spider-Man becomes inconvenient. But then he realized it’s because he’s used to people fretting over him rather than praising him. Ever since, he’s made it a priority to make sure Peter knows exactly what he thinks about Spider-Man, even if that means pretending the danger he dives into doesn’t bother him. Peter’s got enough to worry about without adding Harley’s concerns to his plate.

Besides, he walked into this relationship with his eyes wide open. He knew what it would mean to date Spider-Man. He knew he wouldn’t be put first over New York. He knew it would be inconvenient more often than not. He knew it would interfere with his life almost as much as it does Peter’s. He knew the consequences. He knew the risks. He chose him anyway.

He’ll _keep_ choosing him anyway.

It’s why he said yes when Peter asked him to start training with him. Even though he hates that Iron suit. Even though he’s not planning on ever using the training unless there’s an emergency. As far as he’s concerned, the training serves one purpose above all others: to train him to treat Spider-Man as a separate entity from Peter Parker. No more slip-ups. No more mistakes.

He’s not willing to give up Peter so he has to put in the work to be good enough for him. Simple.

They pass the crime scene and the sidewalk gets a little less congested but they don’t move apart. He bumps the back of his hand against Peter’s and Peter doesn’t hesitate to interlock their fingers and swing their joined hands between them. He smiles up at Harley, his face beat to hell, and his hair a frizzy wreck atop his head.

He’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

~*~

“I can’t wait for fall to get here,” Peter complains as he struggles out of his suit.

Harley can’t say he’s a fan of the sweltering late-summer heat or nights when the temperature stubbornly hovers in the 90’s but watching Peter peel the spider suit off his flushed, sweat-slicked skin every night might be enough to bump summer up to his favorite season.

Bumpurr purrs as he scratches idly behind her ears and watches from the kitchen table as Peter finally shakes his foot free of the suit. He leaves it in a smelly heap as he collapses to the cool tile of the kitchen floor, belly down with his arms and legs spread like a starfish, and his hair plastered to his scalp with sweat.

“Ahh,” he sighs, cheek pressed to the floor. “That’s better.”

“You wanna shower off before dinner, Stinker-Man? I can smell you from here.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Peter rolls to his back and stretches, pointing his toes and flexing his wrists before going boneless with a satisfied exhale. He flops his head to the side to regard Harley with sleepy eyes. “I think you enjoy this too much. I have to share my suffering somehow.”

“So your solution is to share your stench?”

“Yep!” He grins lazily, swiping his hair off his forehead so it stands up straight. Or as straight as his curls can manage.

“Joke’s on you. I never said I didn’t like it.”

Peter groans rolling to his feet. “What’s the point then?”

He shoots Harley a dirty look to which Harley winks flirtatiously and wins a startled laugh.

“What’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

“You’re not gonna shower first? There’s chicken salad in the fridge. Figured you’d appreciate somethin’ cold.”

“God, you’re the best,” Peter moans. He grabs a fork and then digs the Tupperware out of the fridge. He pries the lid off and then hops up onto the counter where he sits in his underwear, swinging his feet as he scoops out a large bite. “Wish I could eat and shower at the same time. It’d be so convenient.”

“Pretty sure that’s why baths were invented,” Harley says distractedly as he watches Peter eat the chicken salad straight out of the container. “You want some bread with that, champ?”

“This way’s more efficient,” Peter says and then crams a large forkful into his mouth.

Harley wrinkles his nose.

“Never understood baths,” Peter continues around the food in his mouth. “Aren’t you just soaking in all your dirt and sweat? What’s the point?”

“You’re supposed to rinse off first.”

Bumpurr shifts in Harley’s lap, draping herself over his cast and leaving him with only one functioning hand, not that the other one is much good to him right now anyway. She stretches, spreading out her toe beans, and then bumps her head against his arm until he resumes scritching behind her ears. He’d like to say she’s the reason his studying hasn’t taken off but really, she’s just a convenient excuse.

Peter pauses, fork in midair, and looks at him. “Wait. For real?”

“Uh, yeah? That’s what Mama always does. Before and after. Growing up, we always knew when we heard the shower shut off the second time we were allowed to bug her again. Interrupting her bath was always a sure-fire way to get your ass raked over the coals.”

“Huh. Makes sense. Maybe I’ll give it a try some time.” He jerks his chin at Harley’s spread on the table. “What’cha workin’ on?”

“Technically?” he says. “Nothing.”

There is a fistful of highlighters and three different textbooks sprawled across the kitchen table but his notebook is tragically barren. He thought he’d get a jump start before classes kick-off but focusing is nearly impossible when all he can think about is walking down to the lab and actually doing the things the books are trying to lecture him about.

If anyone asks, he’s completely confident in his abilities. Which he is! But he can’t help but compare his rural education to Peter’s fancy urban STEM school education and wonder if he’ll be able to keep up. Peter’s already genius-smart. He doesn’t want to fall behind. He doesn’t want to hold him back.

Turns out studying is boring as fuck though. Bumpurr’s company was the only good thing about his evening until Peter came crawling in through the window and started taking off his clothes.

“This whole studying thing is way more tedious than I thought it’d be and I didn’t have high hopes to begin with.”

Peter snorts and grins a close-lipped smile as he swallows. “You make it sound like you’ve never studied before.”

Harley shrugs. “Never needed to.”

“Wait for real?” Peter blurts and some chicken salad falls off of his fork and lands on his abdomen. He swipes it up with his finger and sucks it clean.

_Hormones are terrible,_ Harley decides, watching his disaster boyfriend be simultaneously disgusting and attractive. There’s no way he should be turned on by this.

“My school focused more on pushing us across the finish line than actually challenging us. None of the classes that mattered to me were hard enough to warrant actually reading the textbook outside of class so why bother, you know?”

“What about the classes that didn’t matter to you?”

“I already told you I failed Spanish.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You about done with that? Your girl misses you.”

“Aww, I miss her too.” Peter scrapes the last of the chicken salad out of the container and then tosses it in the sink before hopping down from the counter and making his way to the table. “Hey baby girl,” he coos as he strokes the soft black fur between her ears. She immediately begins purring. “Come see Papa.”

Bumpurr doesn’t need to be told twice and springs up onto Peter’s bare shoulder where she perches likes a fuzzy black gargoyle. It’ll be a sad day when she gets too big for it. She’s already almost too big for Harley to handle on his shoulder. She likes to hang on with her claws but it doesn’t bother Peter. He’s got a theory that Peter’s skin is more durable than normal.

“You want help?” Peter asks, glancing at his study materials.

Harley sighs. “I think I’m gonna pack up for the night. I’m bushed and we’ve got class in like six hours.”

Peter frowns. “You know you don’t have to—,”

“Shut up.” Harley stands and starts clearing up his things. “You know I want to.”

“I know, I know. Just, sleep is important and with classes starting and all, maybe it would be a good idea to not wait up anymo—,”

Harley drops his last textbook on top of the stack and turns and catches Peter by the hips, startling him into silence. He leans close and looks him in the eyes and says, “I’m doing what I want.”

Peter stares at him, brown eyes wide, and suddenly he’s hyper-aware that Peter’s wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He drags his thumb over the soft smooth skin just above the waistband and watches in delight as Peter’s eyes dilate and his breath hitches. The fatigue he felt while trying to focus on his schoolwork vanishes under his thundering pulse.

He glances down at Peter’s lips and then back up at his watchful eyes.

Peter puts a hand against Harley’s chest and when he speaks his voice is soft and strained. “Not in front of the baby.”

Harley snorts and narrows his eyes at Bumpurr, perched and purring happily on Peter’s shoulder only inches from his face. He sticks his tongue out at her and then steps back. It’s a huge effort to let his hands fall away from Peter’s hips but he does it.

“Tony’s right. This parenting thing is for the birds,” he jokes.

Peter is still holding his gaze and it’s taking everything Harley has in him not to rush in and kiss him senseless and explore all that skin, soft and sweet and _right there._ He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s barely in control and could snap at any moment. Peter lights him up, awakening something that’s been dormant inside of him. Waiting.

But they’re taking it slow. He’s following Peter’s lead and every time things have started to get heavy between them Peter pumps the breaks and Harley’s fine with that. Really. As far as he’s concerned they’ve got the rest of their lives to learn each other. He’s not in a hurry. He’s _not._ But goddamn sometimes he feels like he’s going out of his mind.

“Be nice. You love her,” Peter says in the same strained tone as before.

“She ain’t so bad.” _Except for when she’s bein’ a cockblock._ “You wanna shower while I get your suit in the wash?”

“That’d be good,” Peter says but he doesn’t move and he doesn’t break eye contact.

“Any rips or tears tonight?” Harley asks after a beat of silence.

Peter shakes his head.

Harley’s at a loss for what else to do other than the obvious so he slowly steps back into Peter’s space, projecting his movements and giving him plenty of time to step away or tell him to stop.

He doesn’t. He does nothing but watch as Harley lifts Bumpurr from his shoulder and sets her on the table where she immediately makes it her mission to knock all of Harley’s highlighters to the floor.

“Can I touch you now?” Harley asks.

Peter sucks in a breath and nods sharply.

Harley licks his lips and moves closer until he can feel the heat coming off Peter’s skin. He brushes his fingertips across Peter’s hips and watches with fascination as his eyelids flutter and his eyes roll back at the barest touch. Heart thundering, he dips his head and buries his nose in the crook of his neck and breathes in deep the musky scent that’s purely Peter.

“Harley,” Peter gasps and clenches the hem of Harley’s t-shirt in both fists.

Harley ghosts his lips over Peter’s skin and presses a chaste kiss to his fluttering pulse point as he settles his hands more firmly on his hips.

“S-someone could see us,” Peter stutters but he doesn’t move away. His grip on Harley’s shirt tightens and he pulls him closer until their chests are flush together.

“You’ll hear them coming,” Harley says, voice hushed as he rubs his nose up the side of Peter’s neck and delights in the shiver that runs up his spine. “Besides, it’s kind of thrilling isn’t it?”

“God you make me so crazy,” Peter whispers in a rush and then hauls Harley around by the shirt and pins him to the wall by his shoulders.

“Holy fu—,”

Then Peter’s lips are on his and he’s drowning, drowning, drowning. Hands in his hair, cupping his jaw, trailing down his sides, grasping the hem of his shirt. All Harley can do is hold on, his fingers digging into Peter’s back as he moves his lips against Peter’s soft mouth and tries not to lose his mind. Peter tugs up on his shirt and it’s over his head before he can catch up with what’s happening. He wiggles his arms out of it when it gets caught on his stupid cast and Peter’s already all over him, running his hands up his abdomen, over his chest, down his arms.

Thank God his bruises are gone.

Peter hooks a finger under the waistband of his jeans and Harley’s surges forward without thinking only for Peter to slam him back against the wall.

“Jesus _fuck,_ Peter.”

“Shh, they’ll hear.”

Then Peter’s mouth is covering his, plush and warm, and his hands are gripping his waist like he’s afraid he’s going to try and escape, but there’s nowhere else Harley wants to be. He fists his hands in Peter’s hair and pulls him closer as something like a whimper crawls out of his throat.

Peter tears away from his lips, gasping for air, and leaves Harley panting against the wall, held firmly in place at the waist. He cranes forward and manages to get his lips on Peter’s jaw and from there leaves a trail of kisses down to his collarbone where he nips his skin only to immediately soothe it with his tongue, lapping up the salty bitterness of Peter’s flesh.

“Harley,” Peter gasps. “Do that again.”

Harley’s never been more eager to do as he’s told as he sucks a smattering of marks across Peter’s skin, egged on by tiny gasps and the way Peter’s fingers dig deliciously into his sides.

“Harley, Harley, Harley,” Peter breathes his name like a prayer and Harley’s never felt desire like this before.

“Fuck Peter, you taste so good,” Harley breathes into his skin.

Under Harley’s hands, a tremor pulses through Peter like a jolt of electricity, and then his hands spring away from Harley’s sides and he stumbles backward.

_Dammit._

“Wait. I’ll stop,” he says, holding his hands out at his sides.

Peter’s pupils are so dilated there’s only the thinnest stripe of brown still visible. He’s flushed from his chest to his cheeks and he’s heaving great lungfuls of air and looking at Harley with wild, almost frightened eyes.

“It’s okay. We can stop. Can I— Can I just hold you?”

Peter nods jerkily and remains still as Harley collects him in his arms, tucking his head to his shoulder with one hand while the other wraps securely around his back, palm splayed flat against his shoulder blade like he can still the trembling of his body if he only holds him tight enough. He rests his temple against Peter’s and gulps down air as Peter’s every exhale warms the crook of his neck.

“I love you so much,” Harley whispers, the words tumbling out of him with reckless abandon. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll stop anytime you want, but fuck that was— I thought I— It was so— _fuck,_ Peter.”

Peter huffs a tiny laugh and Harley’s eyes slip shut as he feels his arms curl loosely around his waist. He rests his cheek atop Peter’s head, uncaring of the cool sweat still dampening his locks as they catch their breath together. Finally, Peter leans back and unwinds his arms from Harley’s waist and Harley reluctantly loosens his hold before letting his hands fall away entirely.

They share a happy if somewhat self-conscious smile, but then Peter glances down and blanches.

“Oh my God, Harley,” he whispers, horrified.

Harley follows his gaze to his waist where he finds a pair of red marks in the shape of Peter’s hands just above the waistline of his jeans. The sight sends a thrill through him but it’s swiftly stifled by dread.

He looks up just in time to see Peter’s face crumple as he steps away. He tries to catch his wrist but he dodges back.

“I hurt you,” Peter says in an agonized whisper.

“You didn’t.”

“I have fucking _eyes,_ Harley,” Peter snaps. “I can see where I— Fuck. _Fuck._ Oh my God.” He covers his mouth but he can’t tear his eyes away from the marks in Harley’s skin.

“I get how this looks but I swear it didn’t hurt,” he tells him, pleading with his eyes for Peter to understand. If he’d only _look_ at him maybe he’d understand. “I— God, this is embarrassing, but I liked it, okay? I liked it a lot. If you would’ve slammed me against the wall one more time I’d’ve lost it.”

Peter closes his eyes as shame washes over him. “It could’ve been so much worse. I could’ve seriously hurt you. If I lose control—,”

“You didn’t.”

Peter’s eyes snap open, shiny with unshed tears. “Look at yourself! I didn’t do that on purpose. I could have given you a concussion or— or broke your ribs or bruised your organs. Fuck, I’m so— I can’t— _We_ can’t—,”

“Peter, please,” Harley says, forcing his tone to calm. “Let’s put a pin in this, okay? We don’t have to solve this tonight. It’s— We’ll figure it out. But please please don’t beat yourself up over this. I promise I’m okay. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I _swear_ I’m okay.”

Peter regards him silently until a lone tear springs free and rolls down his cheek. He swipes it away, frustrated. “Okay, I just—,” His breath hitches. “I want to be with you so bad but I’m scared— I’m so scared I’m gonna hurt you. I can’t— I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you. I thought maybe out here it would have been easier than in bed but it was…”

“It was crazy intense, right?” Harley asks with a tentative half-smile.

Peter huffs out a tiny, shaky laugh and Harley finds he can breathe again. _We’re gonna be okay. We’ll work this out._

“C’mere,” he says softly, holding out his arms. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Peter deflates all at once and sniffles as he slumps into Harley’s embrace. His arms hang at his sides as he lets Harley hold him. “I’m sorry.”

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for. We’re doin’ just fine. There’s a learning curve to this kind of thing you know.”

Peter swallows thickly. “You’ll tell me if you’re sore tomorrow, won’t you?”

_Hell to the no. Not a chance. No way._

“If I am then I’m in trouble cuz all I’ll be able to think about is you and your hands and your mouth.”

Peter straightens to look him in the eyes with a frown. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he argues, injecting a note of offense into his tone. “I don’t know how to explain to you how utterly irresistible you are.”

Peter blushes and ducks his head so he takes the opportunity to plant a kiss in his hair, which he almost immediately regrets.

“Blegh.” He swipes the back of his arm across his lips. “Sweat Lips strikes again.”

A reluctant laugh bubbles out of Peter. He sniffs and tentatively takes Harley’s hand in his. “I love you even if you have chronic sweaty lips.”

“And I love you even if you have a guilt complex the size of the state.”

Peter wrinkles his nose at him and Harley kisses it. “Let’s go to bed, Spider Baby. Things’ll be better in the morning.”

“First things first, you said you’d wash the suit.”

Harley groans. “Fine but then you better shower because I don’t wanna have to wash the sheets tomorrow and you really do smell.”

“You said you like it.”

“Yeah, when it’s _you_ and you’re mostly naked. Not when it’s the bed I have to sleep in.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Fine. Big baby.”

~ **Miles** ~

“I love you, dad!”

“Dad, I love you!”

Miles ducks his head and lengthens his stride. _Thanks a lot, dad._ Now the whole school knows him as a daddy’s boy and the son of a police officer before he’s even had the chance to introduce himself.

And he can hear it all. Every whispered comment, the stifled laughter, all of it.

He darts around a corner down a smaller and less crowded side-hallway and takes a breath. It’s a little quieter here. Students are in their lockers or clustered up chatting with their friends, paying no attention to him. He tries to find a heartbeat to focus on but it’s too loud. There’s so much going on that it’s impossible to pick out the finer details. His skin is starting to feel tight. His skull is pulsating.

He finds his locker and gets it open just as the girl beside him leans out of hers and douses herself in body spray.

His headache explodes into a migraine. It’s going to be a long day.

~*~

“Morales!”

Miles flinches at the sudden shout and reluctantly turns around. He was so close. His dorm is just around the corner. Hopefully, empty and silent—or as silent as anywhere can be nowadays. He hasn’t met his roommate yet and he’s not in any state to be meeting any more new people, especially someone as important as the person he’ll be sharing a room with for the next year.

A large man with a big untrimmed mustache is marching towards him, his face set in a determined grimace, and chest puffed out proudly.

Oh boy. He knows this type. If only he’d walked a little faster, he could have made it to the safety of his dorm.

“Hello sir,” he says as respectfully as he can despite knowing it’s not going to make a difference.

Sure enough, Mustache narrows his eyes and looks Miles up and down distrustfully. “I want to make one thing clear, Morales. Since you’re new to how things are run on this side of town I’m going to give you one chance, but we won’t tolerate the behavior that—,”

“Mr. Dutcher!”

Miles turns and finds a Korean boy his age hurrying towards them as fast as his legs can carry him.

Mustache, or Mr. Dutcher, brightens visibly.

“Mr. Lee! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Someone’s vandalizing the motivational posters.”

Mr. Dutcher makes a frustrated noise in his throat and says to Miles with narrowed eyes, “Toe that line, Morales. The second you cross it I’ll be on you like white on rice.” To Lee, he says, “Thank you, Mr. Lee.”

Miles grinds his teeth and glares after him as he strides back the way he came.

“Sorry you had to deal with that,” the Lee says, appearing genuinely apologetic.

“It’s nothin’ new,” Miles mutters. “Thanks for stepping in.”

They fall into step until Lee stops in front of Miles’s dorm room and Miles only has a moment to wonder how he knows which one is his before he takes out a key and opens the door.

“Hold on, you’re Ganke?” he asks, hurrying after him.

“Oh yeah, guess I should have said.” He flops into one of the desk chairs, dropping his backpack to the floor beside him. “Sorry I missed you this morning. My mom took me out for breakfast to celebrate so I didn’t make it to the room until lunch.”

“That’s chill. I was almost late anyway. My dad… he drove me.”

God, he’d almost forgotten about this morning. What a crummy day.

“Did someone really vandalize the posters?” he asks before he can find out whether or not his roommate has heard the people mocking him.

“Oh yeah, that was me,” Ganke admits with a grin so wide his cheeks go round. “Stereotypes aren’t great a lot of the time but sometimes it’s pretty useful when people assume you’re just a goody-goody whiz kid who’s good with computers—which, of course I am, but that’s not the point. The point is, no one suspects the Asian kid of breaking the rules and I use that to my advantage.”

“Must be nice,” Miles mutters.

He drops his backpack beside the other desk and as Ganke spins around to face him the back of his chair smacks into a disheveled pile of comics. The stack spills over the edge of the desk but Miles is there before he can even think about it and rights the pile.

“Wow, nice reflexes,” Ganke says.

Miles stills. Crap! He’s supposed to be flying under the radar. It’s only been two minutes and he’s already screwing this up!

“Uh, thanks.” He tries to lift his hand but the top page lifts with it.

_¡Jolín!_ This _cannot_ be happening. He takes a breath and after a moment can peel his hand free. To cover the odd action he looks down at the cover and finds Captain America staring back at him. In fact, it looks like all of the comics are various superhero comics.

“Into superheroes, huh?” he asks, unable to hold back a small smile at the irony.

“Hell yeah!” Ganke exclaims. “Who isn’t, you know? Have you ever met one? One time, I saw Spider-Man swing past my bedroom window with his webs. It was the coolest thing ever.”

“Sounds pretty sweet,” Miles says with a grin.

He drops onto the bottom bunk and folds his arms behind his head. Despite the crappy first day, he’s glad at least this one thing seems to have gone right. If nothing else, at least he’s got a good roommate.

~*~

He pauses at the observation window, mouth open in awe as Spider-Man runs up the side of a building before flipping over the edge cackling joyously as he dodges the repulsor blasts being fired at him by a lone figure in an Iron Man suit standing on the ground.

“You gotta try harder than that if you wanna hit me, sweetums!” Peter teases.

The faceplate on the Iron Man suit snaps back and Harley glares from within it. “Would you take this seriously!”

“Oh come on, Harley! I’m just having fun,” Peter says.

“It’s not supposed to be fun!”

“Sure it is! We’re in a paintball arena if you hadn’t—,”

“Peter, please,” Harley says, tone softer than before. “This is important. I don’t— I can’t mess up again. Stop trying to get me to break and just let me do this my way. Please.”

Peter sighs. “Alright, okay fine. I’ll back off.”

“Thank you.”

“Miles, you can come in.”

Miles jumps and then, embarrassed, opens the door to the paintball room. “Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Peter waves off his concern flippantly but Harley looks like he swallowed a rock. “How was school? Tell us all about it.”

“It was okay,” he says slowly. “It was a lot and I kept breaking the plastic silverware at lunch but my roommate’s cool so it’s not all bad.”

“That’s great!” Peter pulls off his mask so he can see his grin.

It’s… okay. He still misses his old school. His friends. He used to not be able to go two feet down the hallway without getting stopped by three different people for a fist bump or a hello. No one talks to him at BVA except Ganke. It’s not the popularity he misses, but the sense of belonging. He doesn’t feel like he’ll ever really _belong_ at BVA. Especially not with a Vice Principal like Mr. Dutcher.

“You wanna work on strength training some more?” Peter asks. “We’ll see if we can be a little kinder on the plasticware tomorrow.”

What he _wants_ is to be like Spidey. He wants the flips and the web-swinging and the moves. He’s dying for it. He’s got the gifts but what good are they if he’s not putting them to use? He could make a difference. He could help people. He… He doesn’t want to let down his dad, but he’s a police officer. Wouldn’t he expect him to do something with his abilities? Something good? Something to help?

Then again, Peter only sees him as a kid to take under his wing. There’s no way he’d ever let him put on the mask. It’s better not to dream and get his hopes up.

He sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Harley mutters. He doesn’t look at Miles as he exits the room.

Peter smiles at him but it’s more of a grimace. “It’s not you,” he assures him. “I uh, might have pissed him off. Apparently, I wasn’t acting as professional as he wanted,” he says with an eye roll.

Miles isn’t sure how true that is. He’s seen how sarcastic and playful Harley is with Peter, but with Miles around he’s _careful._ It makes him feel like an outsider—kept at arm’s length. Like Harley’s holding his breath until he leaves.

He’s pretty sure it’s not a race thing. More likely it’s because of the whole internet stalking thing. He seemed fine around him that first day up until he came clean about the stalking and blew Peter’s secret identity. He still feels weird about that but he’s starting to see that’s just how Harley is. Peter is his priority and that’s not about to change.

He tries not to let it bother him. It’s whatever. He likes having Spider-Man to himself anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and happy Serotonin Wednesday!!! I hope you're all hydrated and fed and that this chapter gave you a little energy boost 😊 Your comments give me life! I'm so happy with the response from the first chapter! You guys are amazing!!


	3. Nuggets of Wisdom

~ **Peter** ~

“Hey Harley, is our test tomorrow in Design or Graphics?” Peter calls across the lab. “I can never keep straight what goes with what. We never should have signed up for both in the same semester.”

He gives his web fluid another stir before quickly pouring it into a larger container as it starts to expand and become sticky.

“Uh, we don’t have any tests until next week I thought,” Harley mutters distractedly.

He’s wearing magnifying spectacles and has a spider suit gutted in front of him as he uses tweezers to fix up some split wires and reinforce the fabric in the places it’s been torn. It’s an older suit and it’s almost beyond the point where they should scrap it and start fresh but both of them like fixing old things and it’s the first one they built together without Mr. Stark’s help so they keep breathing it back to life anyway.

“Dude.” Peter sets aside his beaker and pushes his safety goggles up onto his forehead with his forearm. “We’ve got three tests this week.”

Harley swings his head up to goggle at him, eyes hilariously magnified by his glasses.

Peter’s lips twitch.

“Please tell me you’re messing with me.”

Peter presses his lips together and shakes his head.

Harley drops his forehead to the workbench with a thud and a groan.

The smile breaks free across Peter’s lips as he tugs off his gloves and walks around his workbench to thread his fingers through Harley’s hair in slow soothing strokes.

“How did I forget about three tests?” Harley moans, voice muffled.

“One of them’s in calc. You’ll ace it, no sweat.”

Harley sighs and lifts his head to remove his glasses and aim a pitiful expression up at Peter. “What’s the other one?”

“Uh, chemistry,” he says with a sympathetic grimace.

Harley groans and his head thumps onto the tabletop again. “I’m so screwed.”

“That one’s not ‘til Thursday though! I’ll help you study.”

“How’re you gonna find the time?” Harley asks.

Peter opens his mouth to lie lie lie but before he can get the words out, God laughs and his phone rings.

He digs it out of his pocket and it lights up with a picture of Miles sticking his tongue out and pushing his nose up into a pig snout. Peter’s lips tweak into a smile that he quickly attempts to turn into a guilty grimace as Harley peeks at the screen and shakes his head.

“Go ahead,” he tells him, settling his spectacles back onto his nose. “I gotta finish this anyway.”

Peter kisses his temple and says, “I swear I’ll help you study.”

“Mmhmm.”

Peter accepts the call. “Hey Miles, what’s up?”

“Hey man. Uh, how’s it going?”

“Good,” Peter says as he hits speaker and tugs his goggles back over his eyes. “Just finishing up a batch of web fluid. Harley’s here too. Say hi, Harley.”

“Hi Harley,” Harley responds dutifully.

Miles snorts. “Nerd.”

“Me nerd? Peter’s way nerdier than me.”

“I wish you could see him say that with his magnifying glasses on,” Peter says as he sets aside his phone and tugs on his thick rubber gloves.

Harley lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. His eyes are large and brilliantly blue behind the glasses and when he blinks his pale lashes are magnificent and thick. “I’ll have you know Pepper said I look refined and distinguished in my glasses thank you very much.”

Peter giggles and begins the process of compressing his web fluid into the capsules for his web-shooters.

“You’re both nerds,” Miles tells them. “So uh, I was wondering if we could meet up.”

Peter pauses and trades a concerned glance with Harley. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no everything’s fine,” Miles is quick to reassure him. “I just… There’s some spidey stuff I wanted to talk about but I don’t wanna do it on the phone, you know?”

“Oh okay. Yeah, yeah, yeah I can do that.” Peter seals off one capsule and moves on to the next. “Like, now? Or…”

“Obviously, finish what you’re doing but if you could meet me at McGolrick park in the next hour or so that’d be good.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Peter says, glancing at the time display on the wall.

Before patrolling he was wanting to get some laundry done and study for their test tomorrow (once he figures out whether it’s for Engineering Graphics or Engineering Design and Problem Solving) but he can meet up with Miles instead and then patrol after and call it an early night to get his study time in. Harley might like that better anyway.

They’ve had a lot of late nights over the past couple of months since school started and Harley stubbornly refuses to go to bed before Peter gets back from patrolling. Not that Peter doesn’t love their late-night routine but at this point, both of them could use a solid night of sleep.

“I can be there in like 45 minutes,” Peter says. “That work?”

“Yeah that’s perfect,” Miles says, audibly relieved. “Thanks, man.”

“‘Course. You know I’m always here when you need me.”

Miles snorts. “Like you’d let me forget. I’ll let you get back to it then. See you in a bit.”

“See ya.”

Peter’s hands are full so he waits until his phone flashes ‘Call Ended’ after Miles hangs up and then shoots a curious glance across the room at Harley only to find him already looking his way making the same face, raised eyebrows and all, his glasses on the table next to his elbow.

“What do you think he wants to talk about?” Peter asks. “You think he’s finally gonna ask?”

“Sounds like it,” Harley says. “What’re you gonna say?”

Peter bites his bottom lip as he caps off the final capsule and starts stacking his dirty beakers and vials in the sterilization chamber. “I dunno. What do you think I should do? I feel like I can’t say no if it’s what he wants.”

“Yeah,” Harley agrees, unconsciously running his fingertips up and down the underside of his forearm. It’s a habit Peter’s noticed he’s picked up since the cast was removed last week. “I don’t know. I think just… start him slow. One thing at a time. Maybe bring him to the paintball room, train him up, teach him web-slinging and hand-to-hand. Some cool flips to keep up the Spidey brand. That kind of thing. Then when he’s ready, you can take him out on the town and like… buddy system it for a while.”

Peter forces out a breath and uses his forearm to shove his safety goggles back up onto his forehead. “That sounds smart.” He strips off his gloves and drops them into the sterilization chamber and then flips the door closed maybe a little too hard. “Man, this sucks. D’you think this is how Mr. Stark felt when I was first starting? If even the tiniest thing happens to him out there, if he— if he _stubs his toe,_ it’s my fault.”

“I think that’s still how he feels,” Harley says with a shrug. “Also, not true by the way. If he chooses this then it’s his choice, not your fault.”

He doesn’t look like he believes what he’s saying any more than Peter does. Even though Peter is technically Miles’s mentor (how crazy is that?) they both feel the responsibility to keep him safe. It’s been two months since Miles came to them and they’re still the only ones that know. It’s up to them and only them.

Peter makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and crosses his arms as he leans his butt against the workbench.

“I hate that,” he says with feeling. He meets Harley’s neutral stare. “I hate it even more now that I get it.”

Harley cracks a smile. “You either die young or live long enough to become your parents.”

“Oh shut up,” Peter says, rolling his eyes as Harley laughs. He tightens his arms across his chest. “God, I’m not ready for this.”

“You’re gonna do great. You already know all the stuff not to do. What else is there?”

Peter tips his head back to the ceiling and groans. “I’m gonna puke.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Harley repeats, gentle but firm. “He trusts you and he listens to you. It’s a good start.”

“He _idolizes_ me,” Peter corrects. “How long is that gonna last before I screw up and he realizes I’m only human. Well… mostly human. You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re worrying about something that’s never gonna happen.”

Peter lowers his chin so Harley can see his face, riddled with disbelief.

“I’m not saying you’re not gonna screw up. All I’m saying is even when you do, he’s still going to listen to you. The idolizing will go away just like it did for you with Tony, but he’s still going to admire you and respect you. Especially once he experiences first hand how hard the job is.”

“How can you be so sure?” Peter asks quietly. “What if he resents me for not being as perfect as he thought?”

One side of Harley’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Because you’re Spider-Man. You do good and you help people and you try hard. He’ll see that. He _already_ sees that. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’. It’ll work out.”

Peter pushes a lungful of air out between his lips and lets them flap obnoxiously. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Not easy. But it is simple.”

Peter sighs and closes his eyes as he scrounges around inside of himself for a shred of confidence. He comes up empty and sighs again. “I should get going. Don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“It’s gonna work out, Spider Baby. I promise,” Harley tells him, face open and earnest in a way that Peter can’t help but trust.

“Okay.” He takes a fortifying breath and collects his web fluid capsules. “You done with that suit or should I grab a different one?”

“Not quite. The one from yesterday should be dry though.”

“Awesome. You’re the best, you know that right?”

Harley smirks. “‘Course I do. Doesn’t hurt to hear you say it though.”

“Well now you’ve ruined it,” Peter pouts, drawing a laugh from Harley.

“I’m doin’ enchiladas for dinner and they’re better fresh, just sayin’.”

“Ooo I’ll be on time.” He loves it when Harley makes enchiladas. He always tells him he’d make them more often if he didn’t have to watch Peter ruin them with a gallon of hot sauce every time, but he can’t help it that they’re best when they’re spicy.

Harley only snorts, not believing him (as he shouldn’t). He puts his spectacles back on as Peter heads out the door. “Goggles,” he calls after him.

“Oh yeah,” Peter pulls his goggles off his head and tosses them across the room where they land neatly in a bucket filled with safety glasses and goggles with various levels of scuffs and scratches. “I’d be lost without you!”

Harley breathes out a short laugh, already zoning in on his work. “You’re not wrong.”

“See you for dinner.”

Harley only hums in response, fully absorbed in pulling up more frayed wiring and marking where it needs replaced and soldered back together. Peter watches him for a moment, a smile curling his lips before he turns and leaves to go find out if joining the superhero business is what Miles wants to talk to him about.

~*~

Monsignor McGolrick Park is one of the smaller parks in Brooklyn but it’s the biggest one on the north side and is a pretty good halfway point between the tower and Miles’s dorm. They’ve met here a few times and found it works pretty well. They can chat about whatever while walking the paths under the old towering trees and it’s about as private as you can get out in public.

Peter adjusts his backpack as he steps out of the alley where he changed out of his suit and jogs across the street to where Miles is leaning against the iron wrought fence scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” Peter says as he gets close and slows to a walk. Miles looks up and smiles when he sees him, tucking his phone away into his pocket. “Sorry I’m late. There was a thing on the way that I had to stop and take care of.”

“No worries. What kind of thing?” he asks, side-eying Peter curiously as they enter the park side-by-side.

“Ah it was kinda stupid actually,” Peter says with a self-conscious smile. “Nothing that would make the news.”

Miles raises his eyebrows expectantly and waits.

Peter rolls his eyes. “A couple teenagers were getting into it over whether to go to the movies or go mini-golfing. Turns out the real problem was that the one didn’t want to see the movie the other one was trying to get them to go to. Pretty easy fix after that.”

Peter watches Miles out of the corner of his eye as he purses his lips and hums thoughtfully. This is why Peter likes Miles. He gets that the ‘friendly neighborhood’ part of the title is just as important as the ‘Spider-Man’ part. This is why if Miles asks Peter to mentor him as a superhero he’s going to say yes. It scares the pants off of him but he’ll do it because he thinks Miles will be the right kind of hero and he’d rather be involved than have Miles try it on his own.

“What movie was it?” Miles asks eventually.

“That one with the ghost kids,” Peter says with a shiver.

Miles laughs. “You don’t like scary movies? You’re—,” He glances around and then continues in a whisper, “You’re Spider-Man! You’ve lived through scarier stuff than ghosts.”

Peter shoots him a withering look. “Yeah maybe, but in real life there isn’t a spooky soundtrack designed to make you anxious and paranoid. And I have my Spidey sense to warn me about stuff. It doesn’t work with jump scares.”

Miles laughs again. “I hadn’t thought of that. Does it bother you?”

Peter shrugs. “Sort of I guess. I don’t get surprised by that stuff anymore so I’m not used to it and it makes it worse when it happens.”

“Huh. Guess I’ll have to watch out for that. Especially this month.”

Peter skips a little as he remembers that Halloween is coming up in a couple of weeks. “You doing anything for Halloween? Harley was wanting to go to the Village Parade. We’ll probably only be there for a little while since it’s a big crime night but you can come hang with us if you want.”

“My roommate already asked me to go with him. Maybe we’ll run into you guys.”

Peter lights up. “Oh, that’d be awesome! I’ve been wanting to meet Ganke. He seems like a good friend.”

Miles shoots Peter a funny look and then shakes his head with a smile and looks down at his shoes. “Yeah, he is. He uh, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Peter looks over at him, eyebrows raised. Okay? That’s not what he expected.

Miles takes a fortifying breath and then looks up to meet Peter’s gaze with wary eyes. “He uh, kinda found out about what I can do.”

Peter blinks. Oh.

“Is that… bad? Is he gonna tell?”

“No. No, he promised to keep it between us. He thought it was really cool actually and he uh, he sort of assumed I was doing the superhero thing but uh…”

Oh okay. So it _is_ what he thought after all. Okay. Alright. He can do this. Just… be supportive. Breathe. Keep it together.

“What’d you say to that?” he asks and Miles looks back down at his shoes with a shrug.

He chews his bottom lip before replying. “Ah, you know. I kinda told him Spider-Man was helping me out with it but that there’s no way he’d let a 14-year-old put on the mask.”

Peter breathes out slowly. Here goes nothing. “You know… I was 15 when I started.”

Miles looks up and Peter meets his gaze. Miles’s heart rate picks up and he licks his lips, a tentative hope blooming in his eyes before he asks, “What… What are you trying to say?”

“What are _you_ trying to say?” Peter counters.

He _has_ to ask for it. He has to be the one who wants it. He has to choose it. Part of Peter hopes he doesn’t. Part of him hopes he’ll have the strength to walk away. The rest of him knows that’s a fantasy. He’s seen the way Miles looks up to him, the way he looks at the suit, the way he drinks in every tidbit of what it’s like to be Spider-Man. He wants it and more importantly, he’d be good at it.

Peter holds his gaze as Miles stares at him and they slow to a stop in the middle of the path.

“What did you want to talk about?” Peter asks when Miles stays quiet. “I bet it wasn’t Halloween plans,” he says with a wry smile.

Miles shakes his head and looks away, biting his lip, before he leans in close to whisper, “Is this really—? Are you really—?”

“I’m not anything, Miles,” Peter interrupts. “You get that this isn’t something I can offer, right? And it’s not something you can decide to do because Ganke thought it’d be cool.”

“That’s _not_ why,” Miles says abruptly. “This isn’t Ganke. This is me. I want…”

“You have to be the one to say it,” Peter says gently, heart sinking to his shoes as he watches Miles struggle to accept that this is a possibility.

Miles looks around but they’re alone. Still, he leans in close and looks Peter in the eyes as he whispers, “ _I wanna be a superhero,”_ with longing in his voice. “I wanna be like you. I wanna do what you do. I wanna protect people. I wanna make a difference.”

Peter looks away, nodding and unsurprised. He sort of feels like crying but he pushes that feeling away. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Miles echoes, shocked. “That’s it? Just… Okay?”

Peter smiles. One of them saw this coming from a mile away. “What took you so long to decide?”

Miles squints at him for a moment longer and then turns away with a sigh. “My dad. He’s got… He’s not a fan of Spider-Man or enhanced humans in general. I don’t wanna let him down, you know? But the longer all this goes on it doesn’t seem like it matters. Not because what my dad thinks doesn’t matter, but because I’m different whether I’m out there saving people or not. So… I might as well be saving people, right?”

Peter smiles, genuine this time, and throws his arm around Miles’s shoulders and resumes walking. “Welcome to the team, Miles. It’s just me and you. The only two of our kind.”

Miles snorts. “I’m pretty sure Harley would take offense to you implying he’s not on the team.”

Peter makes a face. “You’re right. Don’t tell him I said that. Team of three then. Three and a half if you count Mr. Stark. Ugh. Speaking of Mr. Stark. I was thinking, if we’re doing this it’d be easier if he knew. Like, about you I mean. There’s some training stuff that Harley and I were talking about doing with you but uh, sneaking around will get complicated really fast I think. It’s up to you! We can do whatever you want.”

“Hold on,” Miles slips out from under his arm and steps in front of him, stopping their progress down the path. “You guys were already talking about training me?”

“I mean, yeah,” Peter says, grinning at Miles’s perturbed face. “It was kind of obvious this was where you were headed.”

“Man, do you know how stressed out I’ve been over talking to you about this?!”

“I… Miles, I couldn’t help you make this decision,” Peter says gently. “I couldn’t be the one to put the idea in your head. It _had_ to come from you. This isn’t…” He takes a breath and looks up into the canopy of green over their heads while Miles’s attention stays rapt on his face.

“It’s gonna be hard,” he tells him bluntly. “There are days I wonder why I even bother but I know I can’t quit. I started something when I put on that mask. I stepped up and crime stepped up with me. If I back down now, there’s gonna be no one standing between them and innocent people. It’s… The responsibility I feel for this city is… It’s so heavy.”

He looks Miles in the eyes and Miles’s gaze skitters away. “I don’t want you to walk into this with your eyes shut. And I’m not trying to warn you away but…” He waits until Miles meets his stare, expression somber but determined. “You gotta be sure. You gotta be _really_ sure that you want this to be your life now. It’s going to take over. There’s no way it can’t if you’re doing it right. You just… you gotta be sure.”

Miles frowns at him. “You make it sound like you don’t even like it.”

“I love it,” Peter says with feeling. “For every bad day, there’s at least three good ones. It’s just… the bad days are really really bad and… it’s alienating. No one at school knows and when I graduate and get a job, no one there will know either. I’ll always be disaster Peter Parker, an unreliable flake who’s always late, always disappearing, and always seems to have a bruise or a cut somewhere. Making friends is almost impossible when you’re constantly bailing on plans and lying.”

“You have Harley.”

Peter smiles. “Yeah. Honestly, I think I’d be an even bigger wreck than I am now without him.”

“You’re not a wreck.”

Peter laughs. “Tell that to my Calc professor.” He shakes his head. “This wasn’t supposed to turn into a pity party, I swear. I just… If you’re going to choose this then I don’t want you to be blindsided. It’s not all saving people, swinging from things, the spidey business.” He pauses. “It’s also puns and pop culture references.”

Miles winces. “Oh, dude. That was rough.”

Peter bumps him with his elbow. “If you’re serious about being like Spidey you’ll have to work on lowering the quality of your jokes. They’ve gotta be just as painful as your punch. Oh yeah, and Harley says I’ve gotta teach you some cool flips so you can stay on brand.”

Miles grins up at him, eyes starry and brimming with excitement. “You’re really gonna teach me?”

“Of course. I’m not gonna let you go out there unprepared. I’ve always got your back, Miles.”

Miles sniffs and turns away, but Peter catches the blinding smile before he can hide it. “You can uh, you can tell Mr. Stark if you think that’s a good idea.”

Peter pulls a face. ‘Good idea’ is a strong phrase. Necessity, maybe. But Peter’s honestly not sure how he’ll react. He thinks he’s going to flip out and yell, but Harley thinks he’s going to laugh in his face and start pulling receipts on all the crazy bullshit Peter’s pulled on him over the years. It could go either way or any way in between.

“Alright. Okay cool. I’ll uh, do that.”

“Your confidence is palpable,” Miles says dryly. “Is he gonna try to take over training me or something?”

Peter snorts. “That’s the one thing I’m absolutely sure he’s _not_ going to do.”

“I’m not worried then,” Miles decides, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Peter blinks at him. Sometimes it still catches him by surprise, Miles’s unwavering faith in him. Who would want _him_ as a mentor over _Iron Man?_ It’s baffling. He doesn’t deserve it.

They continue their walk and Peter listens as Miles tells him all about Ganke’s suspicions about Miles’s abilities after one too many times having faster reflexes than he should and the ensuing investigation and how he eventually caught him by pretending to fall out a window.

“How on earth do you _pretend_ to fall out a window?” Peter asks.

“Well, he fell out for real but there was a fire escape. I didn’t know that though so I like leaped up onto the sill and grabbed him by the front of his shirt with one hand while I stuck to the wall with the other hand. I would’ve totally saved his life if the fire escape hadn’t been there.”

Peter snorts. “It’s crazy that actually worked. Harley comes up with dumb plans like that that go off without a hitch too. It’s so frustrating.”

“I could see Harley jumping out a window just to make you catch him,” Miles says with a snicker.

“Oh no he definitely wouldn’t,” Peter says. “He’s terrified of heights.”

“He is?” Miles asks. “Huh. That’s… kinda weird.”

“No it isn’t,” Peter retorts reflexively.

“No, I don’t mean being scared of heights is weird. It’s just…” He looks around. “You’d think Spider-Man’s boyfriend wouldn’t be scared of heights is all.”

“Oh. I mean, I guess. It is a bummer that he never hangs out in my web hammocks with me.”

Miles laughs but sobers quickly. “Does he…” Miles pulls a face and then changes tracks. “He acts weird around me. Like… closed off.”

Peter chews his lip. “He feels guilty still I think.”

Miles nods and doesn’t look surprised. “For creepin’ on me or for giving away your secret identity?”

“Uh, both.”

Miles shakes his head. “Well, I forgave him for the internet stalking a long time ago. You can tell him that if you think it’ll help. I was kinda pissed at first but…He takes care of people. That’s like, his whole deal, right? Back then it freaked me out that he just did that, but I get what he was trying to do now.”

“He’ll get over it eventually,” Peter says slowly. “It’ll help once you guys start spending more time together.”

“Er, are we?”

“Well, yeah.” Peter raises his eyebrows. “If you’re going to start training with us. Mr. Stark wants him to get used to that suit he made for him. He refuses to fly in it but he still uses the repulsors and has to run, dodge, and fight.”

“Oh yeah. I still can’t believe I missed all that on the news and just called you up. I have the worst timing.”

Peter laughs. “Yeah, maybe you should’ve called a couple weeks sooner.”

“Oh shut up.” Miles playfully shoves Peter’s shoulder. “I woke up with superpowers and panicked. Give me a break.”

Peter grins and shoves him back. “So you wanna come over this weekend? We can get you started with web-shooters if you want?”

Miles lights up. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be amazing. Is this really happening?”

“Sure is. Wear something you can move in. I hope you like to sweat.”

~*~

Peter slams to the ground hard, air rushing from his lungs with an audible whoosh. He rolls to his feet before he even catches his breath and fires a web. His shot goes wide, splattering across the glass of the observation room. He makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat but keeps moving.

He twists, flips, and spins, feeling more like an exhausted, over-worked ballerina than a superhero dodging projectiles. He flips backward and pulls himself up the side of a structure, using both hands to pull and launch himself vertically several feet before grabbing the structure again and repeating the action. Then he kicks off the building and flips heels overhead in a graceful arc that ends when he lands on the shoulders of an Iron Man bot.

He’s supposed to manually disable the bot (after that first day, Mr. Stark decided simple switches were too easy for him) but he’s _tired_ and besides, Mr. Stark likes fixing things. So he punches his fist through the backplate and rips out a handful of wires. The bot powers down immediately, thrusters and flight stabilizers flickering out in a blink and then they’re both falling from a story up. Peter kicks off from the bot and shoots a web at one of the building structures. It catches and he’s no longer free-falling, but now he’s swinging straight for the solid metal structure and there’s nowhere else he can stick a web and swing away to.

Also, did he mention he’s tired?

He braces himself and tries to stick the landing but he hits too hard. He loses his grip and slips to the ground, the impact jarring. Luckily he’s only a few feet up at this point so his tailbone is only mildly sore… along with the rest of his body.

“End simulation,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echos through the room, signaling to Peter that he successfully disabled all of the bots. Thank God.

He flops onto his back and yanks his mask off his head, sucking down air and swiping sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. He rolls his shoulder and yep, it’s definitely going to be sore for a couple of hours but it’s not dislocated so there’s that. He throws his arm over his eyes and focuses on catching his breath.

Mr. Stark’s footsteps echo through the room and he hopes he didn’t look as sloppy as he felt. He’s beat harder simulations with less effort and they both know it.

“Hey, Underoos,” Mr. Stark greets, stopping a few feet away.

Peter moves his arm to shoot Mr. Stark a one-eyed scowl and finds him with his hands in his pockets, his expression one of carefully crafted levity. Great. So he did look sloppy.

“You wanna tell me what’s got you so distracted today? You should’ve been able to take down those chuckleheads no problem.”

Peter sighs and sits up, wincing at the soreness of his backside. “What makes you think I was distracted? Maybe I’m just tired.”

Mr. Stark hums. “You mean besides the fact that you’ve been fidgety all week? I wasn’t gonna mention it but if it’s affecting you this bad I think you should just come clean and lay it out there.”

Peter sighs. “I need to tell you something but I’m not sure how you’ll take it.”

“Only one way to find out. Spill, kid.”

“I… I don’t even know how to say it.”

“With your mouth usually works best.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “So there’s this kid, Miles.”

“Miles Morales. Straight A student. Lives in Brooklyn with his mom Rio Morales and dad Jeffery Davis when he’s not attending Brooklyn Visions Academy. That Miles?”

Peter sits up and stares at Mr. Stark in shock. “Wh— How?”

Mr. Stark shoots him a look. “You think I don’t keep tabs on who comes and goes in my own home? Just because Harley escorts him up, doesn’t mean F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn’t notify me that a stranger is being brought into the private sector of the tower.

Peter lays back down with a groan. “So you’ve known this whole time? And I’ve been stressing out for nothing.” He suddenly feels a lot more empathy towards Miles summoning up the courage to ask him to train him to fight crime.

“Yep. Don’t know why you thought you could keep it from me, but I do have questions.”

Peter raises his arm and flicks his wrist lazily. “Fire away.”

“He’s enhanced,” Mr. Stark says. A statement, not a question. “I watched the surveillance videos of you helping him learn to control his strength. You did a good job by the way. I’m incredibly proud.” Despite himself, Peter feels a flush of warmth in his chest at the praise. “My question is, how? He wasn’t born with it or he’d know how to control it by now.”

“Same as me,” Peter says. He quickly explains how he met Miles and his Spidey sense’s reaction to his bug bite.

Mr. Stark looks troubled. “And it never occurred to you to be concerned that a radioactive spider was crawling around the subways?”

Peter flushes. “No. I mean, _yes._ It did. But this was while all that stuff with Rhino was going on and that was kind of taking up all of my time already and then Miles didn’t call so I figured it was a fluke.”

“But then he did call.”

“Yeah, right after our big showdown with Rhino. It had been a couple weeks at that point and I just… I didn’t even know where to start looking into it. How am I supposed to track down possibly radioactive _spiders?_ I’m not Ant-Man. I can’t just talk to them and ask about their chemical composition. And then classes started and I just… I forgot about it.”

“This is the kind of thing I want you coming to me with,” Mr. Stark says. His tone is devoid of judgment but Peter feels the burn of disappointment anyway. “Radioactive anything wandering around New York giving people superpowers is something we should be handing off to S.H.E.I.L.D. to deal with. They’ve got the manpower and resources for that kind of undertaking and we simply don’t.”

“Oh. I didn’t even think about them. I just…”

“You thought it was your responsibility,” Mr. Stark finishes for him. “Well kiddo, just because you’re the one on the front line doesn’t mean it’s up to you to fix it. You’ve got to learn to delegate.”

Peter deflates and scoots back to lean against the building. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He waves a hand in lazy dismissal. “This is a teaching moment, that’s all. Now you know for next time.”

“Right. Next time I come across a radioactive spider I can go to you for advice. Got it.”

Mr. Stark shoots him a look. “Next time you don’t know where to look or how to start you can come to me for ideas, Sass-master.”

Peter blushes. “Oh. Okay. Uh, I can do that.”

“You’re lucky I like you, kid. This whole mentor thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Peter laughs hollowly. “I uh… I know what you mean.”

Being a mentor kinda sucks. Miles is great, but it’s so stressful. He’s constantly worried that one misstep is going to get Miles killed or make him realize Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing and he’ll stop listening to him and get in way over his head. Now he understands why Mr. Stark was so reluctant to fully step into the role.

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow and then smirks. “The kid giving you fits already? Just wait until he learns how to disable all the safety features you give him and enable all the dangerous gear. Then you can come to me and apologize for all the gray hairs you’ve given me.”

“I am sorry Mr. Stark. It’s not that though. He’s just…” Peter looks down at his hands. “He looks up to me. He thinks I’m this perfect hero but I’m _not_ and someday I’m going to let him down and… I dunno. It scares me I guess how much he trusts me.”

Mr. Stark’s knees pop as he crouches and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He leans against his side.

“I knew a young kid a lot like that once. He looked at Iron Man like he hung the moon and breathed light into the stars and I felt exactly the same way you do now. Undeserving. Unsure. Incredulous. How could that kid not see all the ways I’ve fucked up? It didn’t matter to him though. He wanted to be like me.”

“I know you’re talking about me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says tiredly.

“Good because I’m already tired of talking in euphemism. My point is, even though I’ve fucked up a million and one times in general and with this whole mentor thing in particular, you still turned out amazing and you impress the hell out of me every day. If Miles is anything like you he’ll be more of the same. Better maybe, since he’s got you helping him through it all.”

“Mr. Stark—,”

“I’m not putting myself down, Pete. I’m being honest. You’re the best of us and I mean that. Someday you’ll be the one leading whatever becomes of the Avengers.”

Peter jerks away and stares at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I mean it,” Mr. Stark says, looking uncharacteristically serious. “You’re the best of us. Of _all_ of us. You’ve got all the right stuff. You’re smart, resilient, strong, but most importantly, what you’ve got in here,” he taps Peter’s chest, “is what sets you apart. You’re _good._ Wholly and truly good. The Avengers have blood on their hands. That’s the truth and you can’t argue it. But you Pete, you face those tough decisions and you never take the easy way out. You always put it all on the line to do the right thing and it scares the shit out of me but it’s what makes you better than I’ll ever be.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers. “I can’t—,”

“Don’t dwell on all that.” Mr. Stark waves a hand like he can erase the words from his mind. “You’re going to have years and years to settle into your skin and build up your skills, I’m going to make sure of it. I only told you all that because I hate to see you doubt yourself when I know how spectacular you are. Miles is lucky to have you.”

Peter stares at the side of his face, battling with whether he should ask what’s been on his mind the past few weeks.

Mr. Stark is… different. It’s not that he wasn’t supportive before, in his own way, but now he’s blatant and unapologetic about it. He’s not hiding behind the pretense of being emotionally distant. At first, Peter figured it must have been the Rhino incident that spurred the change but when he started really thinking about it, he realized he’d already begun the process of changing before that.

At the beginning of the summer, he would have insisted on going alone to handle Rhino. He wouldn’t have let Peter take the lead. He wouldn’t have dropped Peter from the sky just because he said so. He wouldn’t have let him engage Rhino on his own.

“What changed?” he blurts before he loses his nerve. “Before you weren’t interested in training or pep talks, but now you’re like a professional or something.”

Mr. Stark hesitates and then pulls a folded up sheet of paper out of his breast pocket. It’s creased and worn like it’s been carried around in that pocket for months, folded and unfolded dozens upon dozens of times. He flips it between his fingers a few times before offering it to Peter.

“Don’t tell Harley I gave this to you, but I think this might help you out with Miles.”

Peter delicately takes it but doesn’t unfold it. “What is it?”

Mr. Stark gestures with his chin. “Read it. It’ll help. Helped me.”

With a furrowed brow, Peter unfolds the paper and skims the lengthy title before being struck with realization. “Hold on. This is Harley’s handwriting.”

It only takes a second for him to put two and two together and then he holds the list a little more carefully and feels oddly emotional as he reads Harley’s advice to Mr. Stark on how to mentor him. There are little notes in the margins in different handwriting, Mr. Stark’s he realizes—sometimes written in pencil, other times various colors of pen.

_‘Vocalize praise more often.’_

_‘Learning moments. Not mistakes.’_

_‘No shame. Only support.’_

“Mr. Stark,” Peter starts but then his throat tightens and further words won’t come.

It's pretty good advice, obviously, considering how well it’s worked—first for Harley and now Mr. Stark. He’s touched that Harley put this much thought into how he treats him from practically day one. Well, day one after they stopped hating each other but you’ll have that. He’s blown away by Mr. Stark’s little reminders to himself and recognizes the phrases as things he’s been saying to him or things he’s been doing over the past couple of months.

“Keep it,” Mr. Stark tells him. “I’ve memorized it anyway.”

“I… Are you sure?”

“Yeah, kiddo. Just make sure you add your own little nuggets of wisdom. If tradition holds, someday Miles is going to have a little spiderling to raise up in the world of superhero-dom and he’ll need some advice.”

“Thank you,” he says softly. He carefully folds the paper and then throws himself at Mr. Stark, squeezing him in an enthusiastic hug.

Mr. Stark pats him on the back and then says, “I need air, Pete.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Peter releases him and wipes his eyes before smiling up at him. “I love you.”

Mr. Stark softens immediately and ruffles Peter’s hair, pulling a face when his hand comes away sweaty. “Love you too, Petey Pie.”

Peter scrunches his face. “You can’t call me that.”

Mr. Stark smirks. “Well, now I gotta.” He levers himself to his feet with a grunt. “Alright, that’s enough sharing and caring for one day. You, stinkbug, need a shower and then dinner. Burgers sound good? I’m feeling burgers.”

Peter accepts the hand up that Mr. Stark offers him and says haughtily, “That’s stink _arachnid,_ please and thank you. And yeah, burgers sound great.”

~*~

After he showers off in the locker room and changes into normal clothes, he ditches Mr. Stark at the elevator and rushes to find Harley in the penthouse.

He finds him on the couch, slumped with his phone to his ear, and Abbie’s voice coming through the speaker enthusiastically recounting her latest audition for the school play. But he’s a man on a mission and even his boyfriend’s little sister isn’t going to stop him as he strides purposefully across the room.

Harley must hear him coming because he sits up and swivels until he can see him. His smile falters when Peter stalks right up to the back of the couch and leans over it, one hand pushing aside the phone while the other cradles his jaw. Their lips crash together like magnets that have finally broken free from their restraints.

Harley makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat but then leans into the kiss with a soft sigh.

When he pulls back, Harley’s eyes are slow to open. Peter studies his face—the freckles that have bloomed over his nose and cheeks this summer, the unconscious curl of his lips, the gentle sweep of his lashes that reveal wide blue eyes that stare up at him, electric in their delighted curiosity.

A wave of emotion overcomes him. He’s been looking out for him for months. He knew that already but he hadn’t known how deliberate it’d been. How much thought he put into his actions. How every action was specifically curated for _him._ It chokes him. It fills up his lungs with all things sweet and cloying until he expects to cough up flower petals.

Harley opens his mouth, a question on his lips, but Peter silences him with a single chaste kiss before turning and hurrying towards his bedroom.

He runs into Mr. Stark in the hallway who shoots him an exasperated look and hisses, “Thought I told you not to tell him, kid.”

“I haven’t!” he whispers back.

“Yet,” Mr. Stark says, bleakly. “He’s gonna have questions now.”

Peter aims a guilty smile at him. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Couldn’t resist.”

He grimaces. “Guh. Teenagers.”

They pass each other and Peter’s nearly in his room when he hears Harley’s hoarse voice. “Uh, Tony? Weird question but d’you know why Peter just kissed the buh-jesus out of me and then left? Abbie. Abbie. _Abbie!_ I’ll call you back.”

Peter pauses to listen to Mr. Stark’s response.

“Sounds like something you should ask your boyfriend about. I don’t pretend to know anything about teen relations.”

“What good are you then?”

“My value lies in more lucrative avenues. Let me know if you’re ever interested in converting to clean energy.”

Harley snorts. “You’re full of shit. If you need one us, knock first.”

“Ugh. I’m kicking both of you out.”

“No, you won’t. You love us.”

“I can love you from across the city. I don’t need you slobbering all over each other in my house.”

“What? Sorry I couldn’t hear you over my raging teenage hormones. I’m gonna go make out with my boyfriend now.”

Tony groans as Harley’s footsteps draw closer to Peter. “At least let me keep my suspension of disbelief,” Tony calls after him. “Don’t break anything! Use protection!”

By the time Harley rounds the corner into the hallway and spots Peter loitering outside his bedroom, Peter’s face is hot with mortification. But then he sees the hungry look on Harley’s face and all thoughts of Mr. Stark flutter right out of his head as his pulse begins to pound. Harley holds his gaze as he stalks closer and then Peter’s back is against the door and Harley’s body is flush against him and they’re kissing.

His Spidey sense flares a second before the door falls open behind him. He reaches out to catch himself on the frame, but Harley’s arm is secure around his back as he walks him backward into the room and then kicks the door shut, rattling it in its frame.

 _“I said don’t break anything!”_ Mr. Stark yells, voice distant and muffled.

Peter breaks away from Harley, stumbling backward as he laughs breathlessly. Harley matches his step until Peter backs into his desk.

“What?” Harley asks, running his hands up the back of Peter’s shirt, making his breath hitch.

Peter hops up onto the desk and says, “Mr. Stark’s yelling at us,” with a crooked grin as he tugs Harley forward by his belt loops.

Harley rolls his eyes. “Well block him out. I want you focused on me.”

That’s all it takes for a switch to flip in Peter’s head and suddenly Harley is everywhere and everything. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake as he slides them down Peter’s sides to settle on his hips. The heat of his body seeps into his flesh as the smell of his skin overwhelms his senses and his thundering heart fills his ears.

“Drives me crazy when you look at me like that," Harley whispers.

Then Harley’s lips are on his and his heart is racing and every brush against his skin makes it beat faster and faster until his head spins. He turns his head, breaking the seal of their lips, and sucks down air as Harley kisses his jaw.

“Doin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Y-yeah,” Peter says breathlessly.

He’s immediately contradicted by the sound of splitting wood and the feeling of the desktop cracking under his hands where they’re curled around the lip. He snatches his hands away from it, revealing crushed wood in the shape of his fingers.

“Did you— Holy shit that’s hot,” Harley says, staring wide-eyed at the desk.

“Oh my God,” he whispers, nausea swirling in his gut.

That could have been Harley. He could have done that to Harley.

“Peter, it’s okay,” Harley says softly, reaching for his cheek.

He flinches back and Harley immediately lowers his hands and takes half a step back.

 _That could have been Harley._ He pulls in one sharp breath after another until they whistle in his throat. _That could have been Harley._

“Okay, we’re stopping,” Harley says. “We’ve stopped. Breathe, Spider Baby. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe but every breath feels too small. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s afraid to touch anything. His chest is too tight and his heart is fluttering madly as panic floods his veins. He did it again. He could have hurt him _again._

“Lemme see your hand, Peter.”

He shakes his head frantically. He could hurt him. He can’t, he _can’t._

“I’m okay. I trust you. You’d never hurt me. Peter, please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it, he thinks. He cracks open his eyes and finds Harley standing with his hand outstretched, palm up, concern etched in the furrow of his brow, and the frown on his lips.

He places his hand atop it but doesn’t dare grip it lest he crush his bones to dust. He’s dangerous. Harley shouldn’t trust him. He could cripple him. He could kill him.

Harley cradles his hand in both of his and steps closer, guiding his hand until it’s flat against his chest where he can feel Harley’s heart beating—faster than normal, but steady and familiar as always.

“I’m okay,” Harley says again. “I’m okay. Just breathe.”

“I don’t know, Harley,” he blurts, throat burning. “I don’t know if I can. Every time we just… I just… I don’t think I can.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out or we won’t and that’ll be okay too. It’s not important.”

Peter meets his gaze with a frown. “But you want—,”

“What I _want_ is to be with you,” Harley interjects. “Who cares about the rest when I’ve already got the most important bit.”

“But someday you might—,”

“Someday I’ll look at my life and be like, damn, how did I get so lucky? I sure hope literal superhero _Spider-Man_ doesn’t get bored of my mundane mediocre ass.”

“You’re not mundane or mediocre.”

“That’s your opinion now, but someday you might change your mind.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “That’s a bullshit way of thinking.”

“ _Yeah, it fucking is,”_ he exclaims. “So _stop_ and believe me when I tell you it’s not important to me and that I’m happy with you exactly as you are and I would be fucking delighted if things between us never change.”

Frustrated tears sting his eyes. He slumps forward until his forehead falls onto Harley’s shoulder.

Harley wraps his arms around him and holds him tight with Peter’s arms trapped against his chest. Peter grabs a fistful of his t-shirt, not trusting himself with anything more. Anything he can hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” Harley demands. “I swear to God if you apologize for not having sex with me I’ll kick your ass, superpowers or no.”

Peter chokes on a laugh and loses his battle against tears. “I love you.”

Harley’s entire demeanor softens and he kisses the side of Peter’s head. “I love you too, Spider Baby. Which is why I don’t want you getting yourself all in a twist over this, okay? Whatever happens, happens, and if it doesn’t then it doesn’t. Just… go with the flow. We’ll figure it out. Far as I’m concerned, we’ve got our whole lives.”

Peter takes a shaky breath and lets it out. “Okay.”

He leans back and Harley loosens his hold, sliding his hands down to rest on his hips while Peter wipes at his face with the back of his hands, smearing away his tears.

“I’ll try,” he tells him.

“That’s all I ask.” He squeezes Peter’s hips and says, “Love you.”

“I know.” Peter tries to smirk but his lips wobble.

Harley rolls his eyes and steps away. “Alright, Mr. Solo—,”

“Captain,” he corrects. “Captain Solo.”

“We’re not doing this,” Harley says, poking a stern finger into Peter’s chest. “If you want to do your kinky nerd role play then you’ll have to hit up Ne-,” He turns mid-word and jumps a foot in the air at the sight of the bed. “What the fuck?!”

Peter cranes his neck to look around him and smiles at the sight of the small white chihuahua staring at them with large dark eyes, shivering slightly where it’s laying on Harley’s pillow.

“Oh right. She was out in traffic and I didn’t have time to take her to the shelter before I needed to train with Mr. Stark.”

“Okay,” Harley says slowly, tense and still staring at the dog. “But why is it in our bed?”

Peter narrows his eyes at the back of his head. _“She_ needed somewhere safe to stay. Also, her and Bumpurr don’t get along and I didn’t want Mr. Stark to know I brought home another dog because he complained last time. _Also also,_ you didn’t mind that German Shepard being on the bed. _Also also also,_ it’s technically _my_ bed. If you’d clean your room then you’d have your own bed you could—,”

“I _did_ clean it,” Harley says, glaring at him while keeping the dog in his peripheral. “I think it’s coming from the air vents. Maybe Clint finally got stuck in there and died and now the smell of his corpse is overtaking my room.”

“We just saw Clint last week when he was over for dinner. It can’t be him.”

“I— Obviously, _I know that._ If I thought it was a dead body I’d’ve gotten serious about getting someone in there to check it out. It’s gotta be a dead animal or something though, right? Maybe Bumpurr figured out how to get outside and brought something in.”

“How on Earth would she get outside? We’re 90 stories up!”

“How should I know? I’m just spit-balling here. I have no idea what’s causing it, I just know I can’t live in there.”

Peter sighs. “You should tell Mr. Stark so he can do something about it before it takes over the rest of the tower.”

“I’ve been meaning to. I just keep forgetting. And all my stuff is in here now anyway so it’s not a big deal. Anyway, what are you doing about this dog?”

“Why do you have such a problem with her?”

Harley pulls a face and glances at the dog again. “I dunno. Chihuahuas creep me out. It’s the eyes, I think. So bulgy. All I can imagine is it staring at us like that while we were making out.” He shivers.

Peter laughs. “I’ll take her to the shelter first thing in the morning if it makes you feel better. As soon as they open.”

“I mean… You don’t have to,” he says while side-eying the dog hard.

Peter snorts and slips off the desk. He loops a finger through Harley’s belt loop and gently tugs him closer until he can press a kiss to his cheek. “First thing in the morning,” he promises. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving and Mr. Stark promised burgers.”

Harley rolls his eyes as he fits his hand into Peter’s, interlacing their fingers. “Of course you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back and happy Serotonin Wednesday! I don't know about the rest of you but the past week felt like a month but also, how the heck are we halfway through September already??? I hope you're all taking care of yourselves. Drink some water, take your meds, tell that person in the mirror they're doing a good job and you're proud of them!
> 
> I live for your comments and would love some more just saying 😘


	4. How long before he remembers he abandoned you?

~ **Miles** ~

Frowning up at the ceiling, Miles says the thing that’s been on his mind for the past twenty minutes.

“I don’t see how this is essential.”

Peter, in his Spidey suit sans mask, gapes at him from atop his web hammock. It’s much better constructed than his but that’s to be expected considering he’s been making these for years and Miles is only trying out web-shooters for the first time. Why Peter thinks _hammocks_ are the first thing he needs to do is beyond him.

“Of course it is! Naps are important for every hero! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve strung up a hammock to sleep off an injury. Just… you know, make sure you don’t nap too long. It’s not fun to wake up to your hammock dissolving out from under you.”

Slowly, careful not to rock the hammock and send him tumbling to the floor far far below, Miles turns his head to eye him dubiously. Somehow he doesn’t think Peter would want him sleeping off his injuries on some rooftop instead of calling him, but Peter’s eyes are wide and sincere so he’s not sure what to make of it. He’s too distracted to dwell on it. His hammock could unravel at any moment and send him into a free fall.

Why did they have to make them so high up? Why between two of the weird paint-splattered metal building things instead of on top of one? Why _hammocks?_

“It’s uh, gotta trust your webs, right?” Harley says distractedly from the floor.

He’s camped out, cross-legged on the floor, back leaned against the wall of what he and Peter call ‘The Paintball Room’ with a laptop in his lap and he’s been mashing buttons and frowning at the screen as he plays some game. Miles didn’t think he was paying attention to them and he was content to pretend he wasn’t there but now that illusion is shattered.

“Exactly!” Peter says, twisting in his hammock to peer over the edge in a way that makes Miles’s stomach clench. Peter’s hammock sways ominously as he crawls around in it but Peter doesn’t seem bothered or at all concerned.

Is it wrong of him to be annoyed that Harley’s here? It’s weird how effortlessly they understand each other. Harley’s only half-focused on what they’re doing but he’s still able to pick up Peter’s train of thought without difficulty. Like, it’s cool that they’re so tight but he doesn’t like being the odd man out. He doesn’t like that they seem to operate on the same wavelength while he scrambles to keep up. He doesn’t dislike Harley, but he likes it better when he has Peter to himself.

“You gotta relax,” Peter says to him. He’s on his side now, facing Miles with his elbow propped under his head and one leg hanging out the side of his hammock kicking lightly at the air to make his hammock sway back and forth. Miles has trouble watching but stubbornly doesn’t look away. “Stuff can go bad when you don’t trust your webs.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, hoping the edge of impatience in his tone isn’t perceptible.

Peter scrambles up into a sitting position, now with both legs hanging over the edge of the hammock.

Miles’s heart jumps in his chest.

“Dude, you’re gonna fall,” he blurts.

Peter beams at him like that’s what he’s been waiting to hear and he opens his mouth, only before he can speak there’s a heart-stopping ripping sound.

Miles clutches the sides of his hammock, but it’s Peter’s hammock that drops unexpectedly. Peter makes a sound of surprise and then tumbles out of sight.

With a gasp, Miles cranes his neck just in time to see Peter shoot a line of web and swing up and away from the floor with an excited whoop.

He flops back in his hammock and breathes through his heart attack, trying to calm his pounding heart. Of course Peter’s fine. He’s _Spider-Man._ Spider-Man doesn’t have anything to fear from heights or falling. Stupid.

Peter lands on the wall next to Miles, sticking effortlessly and grins at him, eyes bright with excitement, his hair a windswept cloud atop his head.

“See?” he says. “Trust your webs. They won’t let you fall.”

“But you did fall,” Miles says.

Peter shrugs. “I guess, but you gotta trust that your webs will always catch you, even if you fall. And besides, half of web-swinging is falling anyway. You need to get comfortable with falling. Learn to like it and not be afraid of it.”

Miles releases a slow breath. “You want me to fall, don’t you? That’s what this is actually about. It’s not about napping in hammocks.”

“Sorry, but yeah.” He at least has the courtesy to look apologetic about it. “It’s… I’m trying to figure out the best way to get you started with this stuff. I had to learn it all the hard way with a lot of trial and error and crashing into things. I think if I hadn’t been so afraid of falling in the beginning then I would have picked it up faster.”

“Why? What difference does it make?” He _really_ doesn’t want to fall out of this hammock. They’ve gotta be like two stories off the ground. Maybe three. It’s hard to tell when these aren’t really buildings with windows and the like.

Peter gets comfortable against the wall, feet stuck flat to its surface with his toes pointed towards the ground as he sits on his heels. “When I first started webbing, I was terrified. As soon as I’d start to fall I’d panic and shoot a web at the first thing I saw and more often than not I ended up smashing into the side of a building or ripping free a gargoyle or skidding on my stomach across a rooftop.”

“Ouch.”

Peter nods and absently rubs a hand over his abdomen. “I got a lot of road rash back then,” he says with a wry grin. “But the point is, to be good at web-swinging, you’ve got to be comfortable with falling. You’ve got to trust that your webs will catch you. Once you know that then it doesn’t matter if you trip off a two-story building or a thirty-story building. As long as you’ve got your web-shooters and plenty of web fluid then you can go anywhere and do anything. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Miles says reluctantly. It doesn’t make his current predicament any less terrifying—he still doesn’t want to fall—but it makes logical sense. If he’s gonna be like Spider-Man, he’s gotta learn to think like Spider-Man and Spider-Man has nothing to fear from heights. Like Peter said, he can go anywhere and do anything. He wants to be like that. He wants to feel no fear. He wants—

His hammock shudders under him. He snaps his eyes over to meet Peter’s gaze and hopes he doesn’t look as terrified as he feels.

“You got this,” Peter says, not looking the least bit concerned. “Take a breath. Your webs will catch you, I promise.”

Miles sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t feel comforted. They’re so high up. What if his reflexes aren’t fast enough? What if he misses? What if he freezes up?

“Miles,” Peter says, “I’m right here. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you. I promise.”

That’s right. Spider-Man wouldn’t let—

There’s a spike of alarm inside his head and a moment later his hammock gives way beneath him with a snap and he’s free-falling with his heart in his throat. The floor is coming up on him so much faster than he’d thought it would. He scrambles with his web-shooters and then notices Peter is falling beside him and something inside of him relaxes.

Spider-Man isn’t going to let him hit the ground.

He aims his wrist at the top corner of a building and fires a string of web. It seems like it takes forever for the web to catch but it does, jerking his arm and pulling his shoulder muscles. Then he’s swinging up and away as his stomach flips with the thrill of it all. A breathless laugh falls from his lips and when he turns his head Peter’s there swinging beside him, grinning in delight and maybe… pride?

They’re nearing the top of their arc but before Miles can worry about what to do next Peter says over the rushing in his ears, “Release when it feels right. Then we’re going to fall again.”

His stomach clenches at the reminder but the bone-chilling terror of earlier doesn’t sweep over him. He’s already fallen and he’s already proved he can catch himself. Besides, Spider-Man isn’t going to let him hit the ground.

At the top of the arc, as he starts to lose momentum, he releases the web and beside him, Peter does the same. There’s a moment when they’re suspended in the air, weightless and untethered, and then just like Peter said, they start to fall. It’s scary but like a roller coaster is scary.

Thrilling, breath-taking, electrifying.

“When you’re ready,” Peter says, unconcerned as ever. Miles wouldn’t say he looks at peace as they fall through the air, he looks far too energized for that, but he looks at home in a way no human should be as they hurtle towards the ground.

Miles wants that. He wants to own the skies like Peter owns them. He wants to feel at home here in the space between the clouds and the pavement.

He lets himself fall for a couple of seconds longer than he’s comfortable with before he shoots out another line of web. Peter mimics him and together they sweep away from the ground, wind whipping through their hair and snatching away Miles’s laugh and Peter’s excited whoop.

They do a few more big slow arcs before Peter directs him not to release his web and they end up swinging backward when they run out of forward momentum.

“When we get to the lowest point of the arc, release and drop to the ground,” Peter tells him.

Miles’s stomach rises into his throat. They’re really high and the lowest point of the arc will still be pretty far off the ground, but he trusts Peter so when they get to that point, he releases the web and then he’s falling again, heart in his throat. He braces for impact and a moment later he slams into the ground, barely managing to keep from toppling over. An instant later Peter hits the ground too, somehow lighter on his feet, like a dancer.

“You good?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” he says, surprised despite himself. A drop from that height a few months ago would have hurt like hell and probably left him limping or with broken bones, but he’s fine. His legs absorbed the shock of hitting the ground without much more than a small frisson up his calves. That’s incredible. His legs are shaking but he feels vibrant and alive.

He wants to do it again.

“This is literally torture,” Harley says, frowning at Peter over the top of his laptop where he sits a short way away.

Oh right. He’d forgotten he was here in all the excitement. He’d also forgotten he’s scared of heights.

Peter winces. “Sorry, sorry! You can uh, go if you want. I think I’ve got it from here.”

“Told you so,” Harley mutters under his breath as he closes his laptop. Peter rolls his eyes.

They do this sometimes. It’s like they forget that Miles has enhanced hearing too and can pick up the whispered words that he’s pretty sure are meant only for Peter’s ears. He tries not to let it bother him but can’t help but be reminded of his third-wheel status every time it happens.

Harley gets to his feet and says, “Have F.R.I.D.A.Y. get me if you need anything.”

“I will, but uh, I think we’re good.”

Harley shoots Peter a look and Peter smiles back at him looking sheepish. Was Peter nervous to start training him? Is that why Harley’s here? Not as an interloper or onlooker but as back-up in case Peter needed him?

Harley looks at Miles. “You’re doing really well. You’re a natural.”

Miles blinks. “Thanks,” he says, feeling his insides warm at the casual praise.

_I’m a natural,_ he thinks. That’s wild. He’s a natural at being like Spider-Man. Maybe those words would mean more coming from Peter but from Harley, the guy who’s in love with Spider-Man and trains with Spider-Man and is Spider-Man’s go-to support guy for everything under the sun… well, it’s not nothing.

Harley smiles at him and then leaves, laptop tucked under his arm.

Once he’s gone, Peter turns to him with a grin. “Wanna jump off a building?”

Call him crazy, but he says yes.

~*~

It doesn’t feel like very long, but hours pass and before he knows it he’s starving and his arms and core muscles are aching. Peter doesn’t seem affected but he must notice Miles is wearing out because he suggests they wrap up for the day anyway. Miles takes it as permission to flop onto his back on the low roof they’ve landed on and catch his breath.

Peter laughs lightly and joins him.

That’s something he really likes about Peter. He’s laid back and he never makes Miles feel stupid or childish or not good enough.

“Is this really a paintball room?” he asks after a minute. It has to be, right? There are orange paint splatters all over the walls and floor and Harley and Peter both call it the paintball room. He just has trouble imagining why it exists. Why would the Avengers build their own paintball room? Team building exercises?

Peter laughs. “Sort of, I guess. Mr. Stark built it to be my training room but he also built these bots that shoot paintballs instead of you know, bullets or repulsor blasts or whatever. So now it’s just the paintball room.”

“He built _robots_ for you to fight?” Miles asks.

Peter sits up and grins down at him. “Wanna see?”

“Uh, yeah?” Miles says. Of course he wants to see the paintball robots Tony Stark built to train Spider-Man. “Am I gonna train with them too?”

“Of course,” Peter says, bouncing to his feet like they haven’t been swinging around for hours. “We just gotta get you all trained up in web-swinging first and then some hand-to-hand.”

He sticks out a hand and hauls Miles to his feet with ease. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Peter leaps off the edge of the building and Miles no longer feels that trill of fear in his gut as he watches him go. He feels good. He’s training with Spider-Man. He’s learning how to web-swing and he’s already gotten pretty good at it. This has got to be the best day of his life.

He jumps as a panel in the wall slides open and an Iron Man suit flies out of it. Holy crap that’s intimidating. It’s not the usual red and gold, but instead a solid unpainted silver. Its blank faceplate seems to be staring directly at him from across the room.

“Pretty cool, right?” Peter says from the ground where he’s poking his head out of the little room with the observation window that they walked through to get in here. Now that Miles is thinking about it, it makes more sense why that room is there.

“Uh, yeah totally,” he says.

He doesn’t like feeling like a target for Iron Man. Doesn’t like it one bit.

Peter must hear the unease in his tone because he says, “Hold on, I’ll put him away.”

He feels like a wimp for how relieved he is, but at the same time, he thinks it’s a perfectly rational response. Iron Man could _wreck_ him.

That spike of alarm in his head flares. It just started happening over the past few days so he’s still getting used to it. Peter told him it’ll get stronger over time until he’s able to pinpoint exactly where the danger is coming from and the level of threat. Miles’s sense is still a directionless feeling of alarm that flares up seemingly without rhyme or reason. It makes riding the subway an ordeal.

There’s a pop across the room and an instant later a stinging in his side.

“Ow!” He flinches back and looks down to find a splatter of orange paint on his shirt and then back up at the Iron Man robot and its raised palm.

“Shit,” Peter mutters from within the observation room.

“Uh, Peter,” Miles says, eying the Iron Man robot warily. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, I accidentally started the training exercise but don’t worry! I’m shutting it down!”

The Iron Man bot puts down its palm and then its repulsors flare as it zooms toward him. Miles stumbles backward and trips. “Peter!”

“Crap, sorry!”

He scrambles to his feet, heart pounding. Part of him knows it’s only a glorified flying paintball gun but the rest of him only sees a pissed off superhero ready to take him out.

He panics.

He throws out his hands in front of him and the Iron Man bot abruptly stops as electricity arcs through the air. He yells, but he doesn’t feel anything. He feels fine. The Iron Man, on the other hand, collapses in a heap of fried circuitry and scorched metal.

A wave of exhaustion crashes over him but he keeps his feet. He feels twice as tired as he did a minute ago. Like he just burned a bunch of energy all at once.

He stares at his hands. Did he do that? Did that come out of him?

“MILES!” Peter shouts as he skids beside him. He pats at Miles’s arms, horrified, as he tries to identify any injuries but his horror slowly morphs into confusion as he looks between Miles, unscathed, and the rubble that used to be the Iron Man robot.

“I thought… Did _you_ do that?” he asks. “I thought it malfunctioned and electrocuted you.”

“I… I don’t know,” Miles says, holding his hands away from himself like they’re dangerous weapons. Maybe they are. _Did I do that?_ “I think… I think I did.”

“You were invisible,” Peter blurts, staring at him.

“What?” Miles asks. Invisible? _What?_

Peter is starting to look excited and Miles can’t find it in himself to go there with him. What’s _happening_ to him? Peter can’t do these things, can he? Why is this happening to him?

“I watched you do it,” Peter says, bouncing on his toes. “You just like faded and then you were gone! I got the bot to stop but then there was all that electricity so I thought I broke it or something and it shorted out and I couldn’t see you to see if you got hurt so that freaked me out but then you were back and you’re fine! This is amazing!”

Miles stares at him. He went invisible? And he shocked that robot with his bare hands. He shocked it with so much voltage that it fried the whole thing into non-commission.

“Why?” he asks quietly. “Why can I do that? You can’t, can you?”

Peter’s excitement dims. “No,” he says. “That’s… we should figure that out.”

He feels sick. He hasn’t been worried about what he can do for months now. Not since Peter started helping him control his abilities and test his limits. He felt secure knowing that he’s following in Spider-Man’s footsteps.

Now it seems they’re off the beaten path and into the muddy water and none of them have any way of knowing what he’s capable of or how to control it.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Peter says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Says the guy whose hands don’t expel enough voltage to incinerate a steel robot.

Peter must see the unease still written across his face because he wraps his arm around his shoulders and steers him towards the edge of the roof. “C’mon, we’ll go brainstorm with Mr. Stark. I promise it’s gonna be fine.”

Peter chatters the whole way to Mr. Stark’s lab and Miles can tell he’s nervous but it takes almost the whole trip to figure out he’s nervous about Miles meeting Mr. Stark and not so much about his new abilities.

“If he’s rude just ignore him and don’t take it personally. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just something he does when he’s uncomfortable which he usually is around new people so don’t think that _you_ make him uncomfortable. It’s just how he is and he didn’t get to prepare for meeting you and he doesn’t really like having these things sprung on him, but I’m sure it’ll be fine! He knows about you and was cool about it. Just know that he’s actually really caring despite what the media always says about him and he hides it behind sarcasm a lot and—,”

“Dude,” Miles interrupts as they approach the doors to the lab, “I’m not worried about that. Seriously.”

Peter flashes him an embarrassed smile. “Right. Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

They step through the doors to the lab and his eyes go wide as he takes everything in. He expected it to be high tech, but it’s one thing to imagine it and another entirely to experience it. Everything is sophisticated and future-esque right down to the floor. The only thing that stands out as being less than optimal is a hanging display of photographs on the wall to his left. It’s child-like in its construction—pipe cleaners, construction paper, puff paint, glitter—and it doesn’t take more than a second for him to figure out who made it. Each and every picture features either Harley or Peter or both. A few even have the Avengers in the background. It stands out. But it fits.

Tony Stark stands hunched over a workbench in front of it. “No more strays,” he says without looking up.

Peter goes still and looks at him with a deer in the headlights expression for a split second before suddenly relaxing. “Oh. Miles. Right.”

Tony Stark puts down his wrench and turns to face Peter properly. “Okay, suspicious. What did you bring home this time?”

The expression is back. Peter glances towards the window on the far wall. “Uh, I don’t know what you’re—,”

“Spill, kid.”

“Oh no,” Peter says with mock alarm as he starts inching towards the window. “Someone needs Spider-Man! I gotta... I gotta go, Mr. Stark!”

“Don’t even think—,”

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Peter is pulling his mask out of a hidden pocket and flinging himself out the window and out of sight.

There’s a moment of stillness in the lab before Tony Stark sighs and picks up the wrench. He grumbles under his breath, “I hate when he does that.” Then he continues at regular volume, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. what does he have in his room?”

A feminine voice from nowhere says, “There are many things in Peter’s room. Would you like an itemized list?”

“Oh I see how it is. You’re taking his side, huh? You know, whatever. I don’t care anymore. Keep your secrets.” He freezes and then props his elbows in the table and puts his face in his hands. “Oh God, I’m starting to sound like them.”

He sits up straight and says, “Delete that F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Then he whirls around and points his wrench at Miles, paying attention to him for the first time. Miles stares back, wide-eyed. “You didn’t hear anything.”

Miles nods, maybe a little too quickly.

Tony Stark lowers the wrench with a sigh and turns back to the pile of gadgetry on the table. “How long before he remembers he abandoned you, d’you think? I give it a minute and a half.”

“Uhhh,” Miles says. He’s not sure if the question is rhetorical or not.

“Come take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

He shuffles closer like he’s approaching a bear and peers curiously at the half-constructed thing on the table. “What is it?”

“You tell me.”

Oh god, this feels like a test. He hates tests.

“Umm.” He stares down at the pile of wires and metal. “It sort of looks like the inside of my phone. Like uh, there’s the memory chip and where you would connect the power source. I don’t… this part is weird though.” It almost looks like a Lego but he’s not about to say that out loud.

“You’re dead on with first bit but this,” he taps the Lego, “is a dielectric filter.”

“Oh. It’s… big.” Way bigger than the one in his phone.

Mr. Stark smirks. “Long-range.” He regards him from the corner of his eye. “You did pretty good, kid.”

“Thanks,” Miles says a tiny bead of pride forming in his chest.

This is Tony Stark. This is _Iron Man._ He’s nothing like Peter worried he would be and everything like how he said he is.

A thump on the outside of the building draws his attention and a moment later the window bursts open, startling Mr. Stark.

“Sorry Miles!” Peter exclaims as he levers himself over the window sill with the practiced ease one would expect from someone who does so regularly.

“Christ, kid,” Mr. Stark complains. “You’re going to send me to an early grave.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he says with a wince and then turns to Miles. “I totally didn’t mean to ditch you.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s not sure he believes that. His timing is too good. It’s like he wanted to give him a chance to connect with Mr. Stark without him being a distraction.

Peter casts another apologetic look his way and then launches into an explanation of what Miles did in the paintball room.

Mr. Stark listens with a thoughtful frown. “Have you tried reproducing the results?”

“Uh, no. We came straight here.”

“Oh.” He looks surprised and then pleased. “Good.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Peter asks.

“Rarely,” Mr. Stark says, looking worried.

“Stop it. I think this ponderable requires some thinking juice.”

Mr. Stark snorts. “Alright. Hit me up.”

Peter beams and then hurries across the room to the mini-fridge and pulls out three juice boxes.

“Seriously?” Miles asks.

“Yes, seriously,” Peter says with a haughty sniff.

He passes out the juice and then they fall into silence as they situate their straws and take their first sips. The first mouthful hits his stomach and he’s instantly reminded of how hungry he is, but Mr. Stark and Peter are frowning thoughtfully at a blank stretch of wall so instead of saying anything he sits on a stool and admires the wall.

The door whooshes open and Harley steps through it, looking down at his phone as he says, “Hey Tony what d’you think about—,” He cuts himself off as he looks up and sees them. Surprise flicks across his face as he takes in Miles and Peter but then his gaze settles on their juice boxes and he sighs and tucks his phone in his pocket before grabbing one out of the mini-fridge for himself.

“Sometimes I worry about you two. Miles you don’t have to partake in their shenanigans.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” he says around the straw.

“What do I think about what?” Mr. Stark asks.

“It can wait,” Harley says. He sits on a stool in between two workbenches so he can rest his neck on the workbench behind him and prop his feet up on the one in front of him. Once he’s situated he stabs his straw into his box and takes a fortifying slurp. “What’re we pondering today, fellas?”

“Miles has lightning and camouflage powers,” Peter says while chewing his straw contemplatively.

Harley’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks over at Miles. “No shit? That’s badass. Peter, why aren’t you that cool?”

He sits taller and a shy smile quirks his lips while Peter glares at Harley.

“We’re trying to figure out why he has different abilities and why it’s taken them so long to manifest.”

Harley hums and takes another sip of his juice. He says, “Maybe it was a different breed of spider.”

~*~

They don’t solve it that day. It’s impossible to know without being able to examine the spider responsible and it’s been months since Miles squished it in the subway tunnel. It could be any number of things. The type of spider, amount of radiation, any number of environmental factors, Miles’s unique biochemical make up. They simply don’t have enough information.

“Just because you starve yourself doesn’t mean—,”

“I don’t starve myself!” Peter argues.

Harley shoots him a flat look as he stacks another two sandwiches on Miles’s plate. “Your metabolism is going to eat you alive if you don’t keep on top of it,” he tells Miles. “Especially after physical activity.”

“Oh right,” Peter murmurs. “Feed the beast.”

Harley narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

“Nothing! Nothing!”

Miles goes home feeling unsettled despite Peter’s best efforts to reassure him that his new powers are nothing to worry about. He slaps a sticker to a stop sign in Midtown, way out of his dad’s precinct where he probably won’t ever find it, but his heart isn’t in it so he doesn’t throw up anymore on his way back to his dorm.

~*~

“Hey, you gonna finish that?”

Miles pries himself out his daydream and turns away from the open window to glance down at the long-cold slice of pizza he carried all the way up to his dorm from the cafeteria only to forget to eat it. He can’t help it that he’d rather be out there, web-swinging, doing something worthwhile. He’s got the web-shooters. Peter told him to keep them on him at all times and that’s not an order he’s likely to ignore. He could just open the window and…

But Peter said they’re taking it slow and he has more to teach him in the paintball room before he takes him out in the real world.

“Yeah,” he says reluctantly, picking up the stiff slice and taking a bite with a grimace. Who knew eating could turn into such a chore? He’s always liked food, but now he has to eat so often he doesn’t even enjoy it anymore.

“Why don’t you just go?”

“Huh?” Miles turns to face Ganke and finds him at his desk tapping away at his keyboard as the little figures on the screen make flashes of magic.

“You’re obviously dying to get out there.” Ganke makes a frustrated sound and Miles loses him for a handful of seconds as his tapping grows more intense. “Dammit!” The screen fades to gray and he pushes away from it with a disgusted expression. “Just go. What’s stopping you?”

Miles stares at him. “Peter said—,”

“If it was your dad you’d do it anyway,” Ganke points out.

He’s not wrong, but still… “But this isn’t my dad.” He lowers his voice and leans towards him as he says, “It’s _Spider-Man._ I can’t break his trust like that.” He cringes as he says it. Yeah, he heard it. He’s not proud but it’s the truth. His dad is his dad, but Spider-Man is _Spider-Man._

Ganke puts up his hands in surrender. “If that’s how it is then that’s how it is. All I’m saying is that it’s your life and I doubt Spider-Man lets anyone tell him what to do.”

“It’s not like that. He’s trying to do this right and not just throw me to the wolves.”

“Maybe,” Ganke says, spinning back to his keyboard and getting ready as a countdown appears on the screen. “Or maybe you need to prove to him you’re ready and you can handle it.”

Ganke’s character on the screen respawns and Miles knows the conversation is at an end as he resumes his tapping.

He leans back in his chair and begrudgingly takes another bite of cold rubbery pizza. Does Ganke have a point? He only met Peter once and it was very briefly on Halloween while there was a lot going on so he doesn’t have a firm grasp on what makes Peter _Peter._ Miles doesn’t know how to explain to him how different Peter is from the public perception of who Spider-Man is, but also how he’s exactly what he should be.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to be disappointed when he first found out who Spider-Man is under the mask, but the more he gets to know him the more confident he is that it couldn’t be anyone better. Does he really want to go behind his back? Would sneaking around like that ruin Peter’s opinion of him? Would he change his mind about helping him?

Or would he be proud? Maybe he’s waiting for Miles to take initiative and show that he’s ready. Maybe that’s what all of this waiting is for.

He groans and shoves away the pizza. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

He gazes out the window, chest tight with longing. It’s a beautiful day. Unseasonably warm for November and not too windy with big puffy clouds that sometimes block out the sun but mostly it’s free to beam down and warm the concrete. A light breeze tickles through his hair like beckoning fingers.

He pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. Is this the right choice?

“Get it, Miles!” Ganke exclaims without looking away from his game.

“Pizza’s all yours,” he tells him, stuffing his feet in his soft and worn sneakers. He doesn’t bother with the laces and grabs his keys from yesterday’s jeans.

“Kick some bad guy ass for me,” Ganke says.

He doesn’t know about that. They’ve only just started training with the Iron Man bots and he still hasn’t figured out how to use his invisibility and electric shock on command, which weirdly makes him feel better about having the unknown powers. He doesn’t have to always be conscious and aware of them like he does his strength and stickiness.

But he’s dying to feel the wind rushing past him and his heart thundering behind his ribs as he free falls only to swing back up and fall all over again.

All he needs is a mask.

~*~

Okay, so buying the children’s Spider-Man costume was maybe more funny in theory than reality. Too bad the shop he bought it from doesn’t allow returns. He’ll have to make do. He doesn’t bother putting on the actual costume and tugs the mask to fit more securely over his head but the eye holes go crooked and he can’t see.

This is a stupid idea. He should wait. He should tell Peter he’s ready. He should follow his training plan. He should—

No, c’mon. He’s got this! He’s been practicing for _weeks._ He’s ready and he doesn’t need Peter’s blessing to do a little swinging on his own—dumb mask or no dumb mask. This is extra practice. It’s not like he’s hunting down criminals and looking for a fight. He’s practicing his swing. Peter would get that, right? And who says he’ll even find out? Right? Right.

He tugs his mask until he can see and steps up to the lip of the roof. Oof, that looks a lot farther down than it does in the paintball room. Something about seeing the little people on the sidewalk makes it feel more dangerous. Like there’s less room for error. But that doesn’t matter, right? All he’s gotta do is trust his webs like Peter taught him. No problem. Yep. Totally not a problem.

He takes a deep breath and lifts his foot.

There’s a light thump on the roof behind him and then, “Hey buddy, don’t do that.”

Miles freezes. Aw crap. How is this his life?

“Listen,” Peter says behind him, “whatever’s going on, I promise it’s not forever. I’ll help you. Just… Just step back from the edge, okay?”

Oh my God, he doesn’t recognize him. He thinks he’s some poor guy depressed enough to jump. Oh man, this is so embarrassing. He steps back from the edge and rips the mask off his head before turning to face Peter, hoping against hope that he didn’t recognize the stupid thing.

Yep. Not as funny in real life.

_Mortifying._

“Miles?” The eye lenses on the real Spider-Man’s mask go wide. He’s stock-still in the middle of the roof. “What are you…” He looks down at the mask crumpled in his fist. Miles hides it behind his back, but it’s too late. “Have you been webbing?”

“Uh, hadn’t gotten that far,” Miles mumbles. His face feels hot and he knows he’s gotta be blushing bad enough to show. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. “What’re you uh, what’re you doing in Brooklyn?”

“I… Visiting my aunt. Thought I’d do a little patrolling on my way to Queens.”

They fall into an awkward silence. Miles doesn’t know what to say. He’s been caught red-handed doing what Peter asked him not to. Is he mad? Worse, is he disappointed? Ugh, he can’t handle that. Especially not while he’s in his full Spidey uniform. Oh fuck, he fucked up so bad.

“I’m sorry,” they blurt in unison.

Miles jerks his head back and stares at him. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

Spidey fidgets before crossing his arms over his chest and saying, “I mean, it was obvious that you were getting frustrated with taking training so slow. I should’ve sped things up to work on your timeline, not mine.”

Is he for real? He’s apologizing for him being impatient?

“I could’ve said something.”

“Well, yeah but I could’ve too. I’m supposed to be there for you and I can’t do that if I’m holding you back to the point that you feel like you have to go out on your own. We’ll need to get a suit made for you but maybe we can go out this weekend.”

Miles stares at him. “Seriously? Just like that?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, if you think you’re ready then yeah. Just don’t… Don’t go around in my mask, okay? It’s dangerous. I’ve got enemies that won’t care that you’re not actually me if they see you webbing around in a Spider-Man mask.”

Miles winces and ducks his head to rub the back of his neck. “I uh… thought it’d be funny.”

_Stupid stupid stupid._

Peter tugs up the bottom of his mask so Miles can see his grin. “It is pretty funny.”

Miles smiles back, a little droplet of relief sinking into his skin, forever grateful that Peter doesn’t take himself too seriously and he’s quick to see the humor in things.

“B&E in progress in Forest Hill,” Karen interrupts, her voice faint and muffled but audible to Miles’s enhanced senses.

Peter stiffens. “Duty calls,” he says. He points a stern finger at Miles and says, “Don’t follow me.”

“I could,” Miles says petulantly.

Peter grins cockily and then pulls the mask back over his chin. “Nah. You couldn’t. We’ll talk after, okay? I’ll find you.” Then he shoots a web at a building across the street and swings away.

Miles only hesitates for a second before he thinks, _‘Screw that,’_ and tugs his stupid baby Spidey mask over his head and takes off after him. A thrill zips through him as he watches the red and blue suit twist and bend in front of him and does his best to copy his movements.

He’s web-swinging with _Spider-Man._

It’s the best day of his life.

Then Peter starts swinging differently than he does with Miles in the paintball room. He stops doing the big slow arcs that he taught Miles and instead the arcs get smaller and smaller until they aren’t arcs at all and he’s yanking himself forward in sharp straight lines. Peter’s still gaining momentum while Miles is struggling to figure out how to move his body and where to land his webs.

He has to stop.

He clings to the side of a building and watches Peter fly down the street in awe, way faster than Miles has ever seen him go. Will _he_ be able to do that someday?

Then the sky rips open.

A weird blobby black _something_ appears right in front of Peter, hovering in the sky and dripping colors that vanish in mid-air. In an instant, Peter swings through it and vanishes entirely. He doesn’t have time to change course or even shout.

Miles stares, brain stalled out and muscles locked as he tries to reconcile what he just saw.

Peter’s _gone._

He bursts into motion, scrambling up the side of the building, ready to launch himself closer towards the blob to… to get a closer look? To follow Peter through it? But before his eyes, it folds in on itself and blips out of existence, leaving nothing but blue sky in its place.

Peter is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we gooooooo!!
> 
> Happy Serotonin Wednesday everyone! Next week....might not...have so much...serotonin? So sorry about that in advance. But! We're finally getting to the promise I made in the summary! Exciting things to come!!
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who comments!!! You bring me so much joy and happiness!


	5. There’s only one Spider-Man

~ **Harley** ~

“If it’s smelled this bad for months, why am I just now learning about it?” Tony demands.

“Wasn’t a priority,” Harley mumbles, only half paying attention as he repeatedly jams the square button on his controller. “Dodge you idiot!”

“How can it not be a priority? You said it smells like a corpse!”

“Moved in with Pete. _Get off of me and die already you motherfu—_ Finally!” He manually saves before anything terrible can happen to ruin his progress and then tosses aside the controller, exhausted.

“Now that you’re no longer distracted,” Tony says, dripping with enough sarcasm to elicit a groan from Harley, “would you mind explaining to me why it took you _two and a half months_ to tell me about the _decaying corpse smell_ in your bedroom?”

“Would this be a bad time to tell you that my desk is also broken?” he drawls.

Technically it’s Peter’s desk but Tony doesn’t need to know that. He waited until Tony was busy in the lab and then did a little switcheroo, moving his desk into Peter’s room and Peter’s into his. This way Peter doesn’t have to be embarrassed about it, especially since Tony knew they were making out in Peter’s room and he’d specifically told them not to break anything. Honestly, he probably saved Peter’s life by sparing him the humiliation.

“How on _earth_ did you—,”

Something slams into the window with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. With a yell, Harley springs to his feet and Tony whirls around, gauntlet forming over his hand as he moves to stand in front of him, shielding him with his body.

“Hey, let me in! Something happened to Peter!”

He knows that voice. He leans around Tony and sees Miles sticking to the window in jeans and a blue zip-up sweater, barefoot with a cheap children’s Spider-Man mask over his head.

“Miles?” he says. “What are you—?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. let him in,” Tony says as the gauntlet folds back in on itself and the nanites retreat into the housing unit under his shirt. His face is grim and it takes Harley a second to realize why as Miles scrambles in through the now open window.

_Something happened to Peter._

Miles rips off his mask with a gasp and reveals eyes wide with panic.

His heart goes cold and his lungs fill with lead.

“What happened? Where’s Peter?” Tony demands.

Harley’s glad one of them can still function. He feels stuck. Turned to stone. His mind is racing but sending him nothing but static as he refuses to think up all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.

_Peter. Oh God, Peter._

“I don’t know,” Miles pants. He’s hunched over, hands on his knees as he struggles to pull in air. “There was… this thing in the sky like a— like a portal or a wormhole or something. It showed up out of nowhere right in front of him and he went through it and I tried to get over to it but it like, closed up and now it’s gone and Peter’s gone and I don’t know— I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what it was.”

“Where did this happen? How long ago?” Tony asks.

He sounds so calm and Harley kind of hates him for it. He feels like he’s dying. This is worse than Peter getting hurt. At least when Peter’s hurt they know what to do. They know what’s wrong. They know _where he is._

“Brooklyn. I can show you where. It was like 20 minutes ago. I got here as fast as I could.”

“Let’s go.” The Iron Man armor forms over Tony in a matter of seconds. He turns to Harley and through his helmet says, “Call me right away if you hear from him.”

Then he steps out the window and his flight stabilizers kick on, keeping him airborne as Miles tugs his awful mask over his head and climbs out onto the glass.

“We’re taking the express line, kid,” Tony says and then loops an arm around Miles’s waist, holding him in an undignified under-arm carry.

“Hey!” Miles shouts, but Iron Man is already taking off, flying fast towards Brooklyn and hauling Miles with him.

And then he’s alone.

Peter is missing. Maybe hurt. Maybe stuck. Maybe dead. And Harley’s alone.

“Fuck this,” he says. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. get my suit ready.”

“It’s waiting for you,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells him.

He skips the elevator and takes the stairs at a reckless speed. When he bursts into the lab he’s out of breath and sweating but the suit is there waiting for him just like F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. He steps into it and barely waits to be sealed in before he starts moving again. It takes forever for the elevator to carry him up to the Avengers’ floor with its landing pad, but its faster than running up multiple flights of stairs.

He runs past Sam and Bucky without acknowledging their questions or alarm. He runs all the way to the end of the landing pad before his stomach swoops painfully and his muscles lock up.

He stands on the edge, breathless and nauseated, frozen as the wind gusts around him and the distant sounds of traffic and crowds of pedestrians far far far below fall away to be replaced by the blood pounding in his ears.

“K.E.L.S.I.E., chart a course to Iron Man,” he manages to get out from between clenched teeth.

_Wind rushing in his ears. Heart pounding in terror. The collision. Blood in the dirt. Peter._

He shakes off the memories.

_You can do this. You can do this. For Peter, you can do this. You’ve done it before. Do it again._

He’s been sort of training with Peter and Miles the past couple weeks, but he’s only tried flying again privately and it hasn’t gone well. He can lift off from the ground and hover an inch or two. But he can’t make himself step off the edge of the building-like structures in the paintball room. He freezes every time. Like now, dozens of stories off the ground.

“A course has been charted but it appears Iron Man is returning. Estimated arrival is in less than a minute.”

A relieved burst of air falls from between chapped lips and he stumbles back from the edge, legs trembling.

“Kid, what the hell’s going on?”

A hand falls heavily onto Harley’s shoulder but he shrugs it off and turns to scan the skyline. No sign of Tony yet, but he shouldn’t be much longer.

“Seriously, Keener,” Sam says, “We all know you only use the suit when something’s up with Peter so spill. We wanna help.”

He ignores him. He’s still trying to catch his breath and keep the contents of his stomach where they belong while searching for any sign of Iron Man’s return.

“Where the hell is Tony?” Sam snaps, but Harley’s not sure who he’s addressing anymore. “Someone tell him his kid’s pissing me off.”

“There,” Bucky says softly.

Harley whirls to follow his pointing finger and catches a glint of metal under the sun. A second later, the sound of repulsors reaches his ears and the three of them stand shoulder to shoulder as Iron Man zooms up to the landing pad, Miles under his arm again (or maybe still?), and then touches down.

His helmet dissolves as he sets Miles on his feet.

“That ain’t Peter,” Sam says, pointing at Miles who only stares back, the eye-holes in the mask revealing his wide-eyes and the dark skin around them. “Right? Tell me that ain’t him and that he didn’t get caught up in some kind of whack body-swap experiment.”

“It’s not Peter,” Tony says shortly as his suit retreats into its housing unit.

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me. You never know what kind of crazy shit we’re going to have to deal with. As far as I’m concerned, it’s only a matter of time before—,”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks.

“Peter’s missing.”

It’s like a punch to Harley’s gut.

Peter’s missing.

Missing. Missing. Missing.

“Someone took him?” Bucky asks as Sam grows solemn, his soldier training taking over.

Tony shakes his head. “Don’t know. There was a portal and he went through it. Never heard of anything like it.”

“This is exactly the shit I was talking about,” Sam says. “Body swapping and portals are in the same wheelhouse of crazy.”

“You didn’t find anything?” Harley asks and he hates how strangled his voice sounds and how everyone turns to look at him, pity in their eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” Tony says, but the grim look on his face doesn’t do anything to quell the dread crushing his chest. “I collected some faint energy readings but they’re not something I’ve seen before. I’m going to see if I can match them in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database.”

“Don’t you need S.H.I.E.L.D. access for that?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not if you know the back way in, which I do.”

“What can I do?” Harley asks. He needs to do something. He can’t just sit around with his thumb up his ass and his thoughts chasing each other in panicked circles. He needs something actionable. Something to keep his mind and his hands busy until Peter gets back.

“Take Underoos Jr. home. Make sure nothing pops up on the way.”

“But I wanna help too!” Miles says. “I’m the one that saw it happen.”

“Yes, you did and you’ve already helped by describing what you saw and taking me to where it happened. Now you need to go home and stay saf—,”

“I can help!” Miles insists, glaring defiantly up at Tony and maybe it’s the mask, but all Harley sees is Spider-Man.

“The tracker in his suit,” Harley says.

Tony shakes his head. “First thing I tried. Satellites aren’t picking it up.”

“Well, what’s the range? Can we extend it?”

“We could probably rig the satellites to—,”

“We’ll do that then,” Harley tells him. “Let us know if you find anything.” He jerks his head indicating for Miles to follow him and then stalks back inside, metal boots clanging and Miles on his heels.

“How many teenagers you gonna collect, man?” Sam asks behind them.

“That one’s not even mine.”

Bucky snorts. “Not yet maybe, but he seems right up your alley.”

~*~

“This is impossible,” Miles complains.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Peter does it all the time. Just… a _little_ bit to the left. Like a _pinky_ amount of strength to the left.”

He almost misses the frustrated look Miles shoots at him from where he’s sticking perched beside the satellite dish way up over his head. He’s too busy looking down at the Stark pad in his hands and trying to ignore the harsh wind tearing at his clothes and the knowledge that they’re 100 stories above the ground—Miles even more so. He wouldn’t say being up here doesn’t bother him, but he’s okay so long as he doesn’t get too close to the edge or look out at the horizon or think about it.

Miles makes a big show of sticking out his pinky and pressing it to the side of the satellite.

“Stop! Right there,” Harley exclaims as the map on the Stark pad blips into existence. “That’s perfect.”

“I didn’t even move it!” Miles shouts. “Are you messing with me?”

“You must have because I’ve got visual now. Hurry up and get down here. We’ve still gotta recalibrate the—,”

“Man, I gotta go home. I have school in the morning,” Miles says as he effortlessly leaps down twenty feet to land on the roof beside him.

“Oh right. ‘Course,” Harley says, thrown. He checks the time and sees it’s after eleven. Peter’s been missing for eight hours and 38 minutes and they aren’t any closer to finding him. No phone calls. No texts. No pings from the tracker in his suit. Nothing. It’s all he’s been able to think about so it stands to reason that something as mundane as _school_ fell off his radar.

Technically, he supposes he has class tomorrow too. He can’t imagine going. Not if Peter’s still missing. Not when there are things he could be doing to find him.

“Text me if you guys find him. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” Miles says, his eyebrows scrunched in concern.

 _If._ What an ugly hateful word. _If._

“Alright,” Harley says woodenly. He doesn’t like the look of pity on Miles’s face so he ignores it. “You uh, need a ride?” he asks, silently praying he says no. He feels like trash but every minute spent in a car driving to Brooklyn and back will be a minute spent not looking for Peter.

Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I need the practice,” he says, gesturing to the web-shooters on his wrists.

“Right.”

Is he supposed to dissuade him from swinging all the way to Brooklyn by himself? What would Peter say? Would he be okay with it? Should he stop him or let him go?

He takes too long to decide (or maybe his inaction is a decision in and of itself).

With a wave and an “Adiós,” Miles tugs his dumb mask over his head and jumps off the roof.

His stomach turns at the sight so he doesn’t watch him go and heads back inside. He’s got work to do.

~*~

He runs out of ways to extend the reach of the satellite less than an hour later. It doesn’t matter. Peter could be anywhere. He hadn’t realized just how big _anywhere_ was until he talked to Tony and he mentioned space. What if Peter got teleported out into the vacuum of space? He’d have died in an instant. No enhanced healing could save him from the pressure, not to mention the lack of air and extreme cold.

Still… He can’t give up on him. Anywhere could also mean habitable planets or a spacecraft or any number of things. So he draws up a design to build a bigger better satellite that can see into space and then makes some purchases.

The parts he ordered won’t be here for another couple days and outside of creating a mobile satellite with the scraps Tony has lying around and flying it across the globe himself, there’s nothing else he can do from here.

Tony kicks him out of the lab around two in the morning claiming he’s a distraction but Harley’s pretty sure he just wants to break down in private because he hasn’t found anything either. Less than 12 hours and they’re already running out of ideas and haven’t heard a _peep_ from Peter.

He lays in Peter’s bed staring up at the ceiling for a long time. Three AM comes and goes… And then four…

As the hours continue to tick by and Peter doesn’t come swinging in through the window with a rush of apologies for his tardiness, it hits him that he’s gone. He’s never out past three without at least having Karen message him and let him know he’s caught up in something.

He can’t breathe through the weight crushing his chest. He’s gone. He’s really actually gone.

Sleep won’t take him. It feels wrong to rest when he doesn’t know where Peter is or if he’s okay. He should be doing something. Trying to find him. Trying to bring him home. He could be anywhere. He could be hurt. He could be dea—

He blinks and the sun is up. Bumpurr is curled up against his side where Peter’s supposed to be and his heart feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant fist, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He needs to keep moving. Keep working. Keep trying.

He scoops up Bumpurr and gets out of bed. _Keep moving._ Barefoot and in his pajamas, he pads down the hall to the kitchen where he finds Tony hunched over the table with a mug of coffee looking even worse than he did last time he saw him. He doesn’t need to ask how his research went.

He grabs a mug out of the cupboard and pours the rest of the pot in it before sitting across from Tony with Bumpurr flopped over his shoulder like she likes.

“What next?” he asks.

He needs something to do. If he slows down he’ll have to think about it. He can’t afford to be crippled like that. He knows once he spirals down into the deep dark bubbling under his skin he’ll drown in it.

Tony looks up at him, startled like he hadn’t noticed him enter the room. His eyes are rimmed red but he can’t tell if it’s from lack of sleep or if he’s been crying. Maybe both. God knows he’s felt like crying ever since it sunk in. He hasn’t mostly because crying will make it real. If he cries, that’s accepting this is happening and isn’t a nightmare he’ll wake up from to find Peter safe under his arm in bed.

Bumpurr jumps off Harley’s shoulder and paws at a spoon lying on the table. He and Tony watch her absently as she knocks it over the edge and then pounces after it.

“Steve, Nat, Bucky, and Sam each took a Quinjet early this morning and are scanning for him with high sensitivity scanners. There’s technology that can block the satellite but their scanners should pick up the tracker even if…” He takes a breath and starts again. “They sectioned it out and think it’ll take maybe a week to cover everything.”

A _week._ Tony thinks someone took Peter. Like this was all intentional. Like they’re hiding him. Hurting him.

He pushes away his coffee, the scent making him feel sick.

“What can I do?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

Irritation sparks within him and he latches onto it. Anything is better than the black empty maw threatening to clamp on his throat and take him in a death roll.

“There has to be something,” he snaps. “We can’t just sit here and wait around for him to pop back up.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, elbows resting on the table, neck bent under an invisible weight.

“Kid, I went through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s entire database last night and they’ve never seen anything like this. We’re in uncharted territory. We don’t know what that portal thing was or where it took him or if he’s even—,” His voice cracks and he breaks off with a sharp intake of breath as he struggles to maintain his composure. “If I knew what to do next, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Harley sits back in his chair, the fight plucked out of him at Tony’s brutal honesty.

“What’d you tell May?” he asks quietly. She already lost her husband. It’s not fair to ask her to even entertain the idea of losing Peter too.

Tony closes his eyes and tips his head back with a groan.

“What? What’d she say? Is she mad at you or something?”

Tony pulls a face and takes a long drink of his coffee. “Not yet.”

“Not ye— What the fuck, Tony? Please tell me you told her and she knows.”

“I was getting around to it.”

Harley stares at him. “She’s gonna kill you. You’ve gotta call her right now. Or go to her apartment or something. Oh man, you’re so dead.”

“I know, I know. Pepper said the same thing before she left for work. I just… I was hoping…”

Harley’s stomach drops. “That you wouldn’t have to. That we’d find him or he’d come back and you wouldn’t have to.”

Tony downs the rest of his coffee instead of answering. “You’ve got class in half an hour. Pepper said to make sure you go.”

He stares at him. “I can’t go to class. I need to—,”

“Weren’t you listening?” Tony looks up at him with a sharp stare. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Not until your parts arrive and that won’t be until tomorrow morning. Go to class. Tell them… Tell them Peter’s sick and collect any work he’ll need to catch up on. He’ll appreciate that when he gets back.”

Tony says it like he’s on vacation or something and it leaves Harley with a bitter taste in his mouth. But he’s right. Peter has a hard enough time keeping up with the course work on top of his duties as Spider-Man. It’s not the kind of thing he wanted to do to help, but it’s something he _can_ do and Peter will be glad of it when he gets back. They’re _going_ to get him back.

“Alright fine. What’re you gonna do?”

Tony sighs. “I’m going to make a house call in Queens.”

“I’ll take care of Pepper when May inevitably strangles you to death.”

Tony snorts. “Pep doesn’t need anyone to take care of her but she’d probably appreciate some flowers and chocolates every now and again. Steer clear of stuffed animals though. Not a fan.”

“Got it. Nice knowin’ you.”

“Wish I could say the same. Always knew you kids would be the death of me.”

It’s stilted and forced but the familiar banter lends him strength enough to shove to his feet, collect Peter’s cat from under the table, and retreat to his room to get dressed.

~*~

Sitting through all three of his classes is an exercise in patience that he doesn’t have. He hadn’t noticed how much of an item he and Peter were—or rather, he hadn’t noticed the rest of the school noticing—but apparently they did. People he’s never spoken to, whose names he only vaguely knows, keep asking him where his other half is and it’s like a knife twisting his gut every time.

He manages a strained smile and sticks to the lie that Peter’s sick.

No one’s ever tried to befriend either of them before, but apparently, now that he’s on his own they’ve decided to give it a go. Their timing couldn’t be worse. He wants to snap at them, tell them to fuck off and leave him alone, but he can’t bring himself to lash out.

He’s not that person anymore. He doesn’t want to be.

On the subway ride home, he goes through his scribbled notes and re-writes them so that when Peter comes back he can read through them and it’ll be like he didn’t miss anything. He clings to that idea. So long as he tries hard enough he can lessen the impact of his absence. If he works hard, he can make it like he was never gone in the first place. When he comes back _(when)_ he can settle right back in like he never left in the first place.

He’s so absorbed in the work that he misses his stop. Usually, Peter is the one to pay attention to that kind of thing. As a native New Yorker, he doesn’t have to even think about where and when to get off the subway. It’s ingrained in him in a way Harley’s not sure he’ll ever catch up to. Now he wishes he’d have put a little more effort into learning the art.

He doesn’t bother with the subway as he sets off on foot, backtracking to the tower, wilting under the weight of his backpack and the heat of the sun as it soaks into his sweater. It doesn’t matter how much longer it takes. It’s not like there’s anything for him to do until those parts arrive anyway.

The cool air of the lobby is a welcome relief after his unexpected walk. He steps into the elevator and the moment the doors close it starts moving without his direction.

“Boss is waiting for you in the lab,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs him.

His heart squeezes in his chest and a trill of excitement flutters in his stomach. Maybe the parts came early. Maybe he found something. Maybe one of the others found Peter. He could be on his way home right now.

The doors open and he hurries to the lab, something like hope blossoming in his chest. What if Peter’s already back? What if he’s waiting with Tony?

The door to the lab slides open with a familiar whoosh, revealing Tony. Only Tony. He’s leaning back on a workbench, arms crossed and face set in a scowl.

His vague hope snuffs into smoke.

“Uh, hey?” he says. “What’s up?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Tony demands.

“School? You’re the one who told me I had to go.”

What the fuck is his problem? He did what he told him to and now he’s getting reamed for it? Is this why he wanted Harley to meet him in the lab? Not because he had a breakthrough but because he wants to scold him for not being home?

Irritation boils into something a little stronger. Darker. Bitter.

“Class ended over an hour ago. It takes half that to get here.”

“Oh fuck off, Tony,” he snaps. He hasn’t had enough sleep to deal with this bullshit. “I’m an _adult._ I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder. If you were that curious, why didn’t you call? Or track me? I know you’re linked into the tracker in my watch and you’ve probably got a million more on the rest of my stuff.”

“I did. What were you doing all the way up in Harlem? And why were you walking? The subway is so much safe—,”

“I missed the stop, okay?” Harley snaps. “Peter wasn’t there so I missed the stop and walked back instead of waiting for the next train.”

The fight drains out of Tony and he uncrosses his arms. “Harley, I’m—,”

“Stop. Just stop.” He can’t deal with this right now. He _can’t._ “Just… leave me alone.” He turns on his heel and out the door, back of his throat burning.

“Wait—,”

He whirls around. “For once could you fucking listen? I said, leave me alone!”

He goes to Peter’s room by habit and slams the door behind him.

Peter’s Hello Kitty pajama pants are in a heap on the floor where he left them yesterday morning, his dirty underwear tangled within them. His Spider-Man slippers are halfway under the bed where Harley always trips on them and his laptop is sitting on the chair in front of the desk where a textbook lays open beside a notebook half-filled with notes, a Snickers wrapper crumpled beside it. His camera hangs from a hook by the neck strap, lens cap on the floor.

He swallows the lump in his throat and walks past all of it to the bed and empties his book bag. He lays out his textbooks, notebooks, and pens then gets back to work crafting the most condensed, clear, and organized notes of his entire life. When Peter gets back he’s going to breeze through it. He doesn’t stop at summarizing the lecture. He goes through the chapter reading and when that goes by too quickly he moves on to the next chapter, diligently noting down anything that seems important.

His eyes are itching with fatigue when there’s a knock on the door. He considers ignoring it for a second but in the end, he’s too tired to stay mad.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” Tony asks through the door. “Or do you still want to be alone?”

“No. Yes.” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

The door cracks open and Tony pokes his head inside. Whatever he sees must be supremely pathetic because he softens as he catches sight of him sprawled across the bed, ink staining his fingers and three different textbooks stacked beside him.

He steps inside and moves towards the desk like he’s going to move Peter’s laptop to sit in the chair.

“Don’t touch that,” Harley snaps.

Tony freezes and looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Sorry,” he says, forcing himself to relax. It doesn’t work. “That’s… He’ll want his stuff where he left it when he—,” The words catch in his throat and he can’t force them out without losing his composure entirely. He can’t break down. He feels like he’s one loose thread away from unraveling entirely and then what use will he be?

“Sure he will,” Tony says carefully. “You mind clearing a spot for me then?” He nods towards the bed.

Wordlessly, he sits up and shoves aside a few books to make a spot for Tony to sit on the edge, which he does, and then they fall into an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you downstairs,” Tony says after a minute. “I was worried and I let that worry turn into anger because that’s always easier for me to express, but that wasn’t fair to you. It’s… I’m working on it.”

Harley nods sharply, throat too tight for words. It’s all too much. He can’t deal with this. He can’t. He can’t.

“I know I’m the one that said you should go to class and I stand by that, but I was a mess the whole time you were gone. With Peter… not here… I hated not having eyes on you and making sure you wouldn’t disappear on me too. Then you were late coming home and I… I overreacted and I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Harley says woodenly. “For yelling. I just… I thought you had good news but then you… You were…” He cuts himself off, feeling the threat of tears burning at the back of his throat and behind his eyes. No. No crying. Not yet. He can break down later. He’s gotta get through this first. He’s gotta get Peter back and then he can fall apart.

“Come here buddy,” Tony says softly, tugging an arm around his shoulders and tucking him against his chest.

Harley allows it to happen even though he feels like a child for how desperately he wants the comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says again as he folds both arms around him. “We’re gonna find him. I don’t know when and I don’t know how but I’m not giving up on him, okay? We’ll find him.”

Harley nods but doesn’t say anything as he presses his face against Tony’s chest. He doesn’t want to think so he focuses on the feel of arms around him and the beating heart under his ear and the steady rise and fall of the chest containing it and tries to match it.

“Did you talk to May?” he asks after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah.”

“She okay?”

Tony snorts softly. “That woman’s an enigma. She’s tough as nails and at the same time as soft and gentle as a baby’s sigh. She told me to keep her in the loop and to let her know as soon as we find him. Didn’t seem like she doubted for a second that we would.”

Harley doesn’t respond. He’s glad that at least someone is handling this well. They can’t all be biting each others’ heads off and hiding in their bedrooms.

Tony hums quietly as he rubs a hand up and down his back.

His sleepless night and stress-filled day catch up to him all at once and he finds his eyelids are suddenly too heavy to keep open. His mind fogs and drifts and he must fall asleep because when he opens his eyes next it’s dark and he’s tucked under the blanket. His textbooks are neatly stacked on the nightstand beside his phone which is plugged into the charger.

And he’s alone.

~ **Miles** ~

Miles paces outside the lab. Harley hasn’t noticed him yet despite the large glass sliding door that he’s wearing a rut in front of. There are all sorts of open boxes strewn about the room and strange parts and equipment set out on workbenches. Harley’s bent over a large blueprint and frowning while his lips move, muttering to himself words that Miles could hear if he wasn’t so caught up his own head.

He passed Mr. Stark on his way in and he explained what Harley’s trying to do—build a satellite to search deep space for Peter. It sounds crazy. It sounds way too big for an 18-year-old to undertake, but Mr. Stark didn’t seem to have a speck of doubt that Harley could pull it off, showcased by the fact that he left Harley to get started on his own while he conferences with the Avengers.

Not that Miles is going to complain. Not having Iron Man in the room makes what he came here to do a little easier. He just needs to convince Harley and get him on his side. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? He’s dating Spider-Man so he’s gotta have a pretty high tolerance for people putting themselves in danger for the greater good, right?

The problem is, they still don’t know each other that well. Until a couple of days ago, they’d never spent any time together without Peter there and even then Harley always keeps him at a careful distance. He’s nice, sure, but he’s not comfortable with him like he is with Peter.

He shakes out his hands and takes a deep breath and walks into the room.

“That was quick,” Harley says without looking up.

“Hey,” Miles says and Harley’s head snaps up.

Interestingly, guilt swamps his features. “Oh my God, Miles. I’m sorry. I’ve been…” he waves his arm in a way that encompasses all of the satellite equipment scattered throughout the lab.

“Hanging on by a thread,” Miles says for him. He’s not sure exactly what he’s sorry for but seeing him up close, he can see the exhaustion lining his face and pressing down on his shoulders. Has he been sleeping at all?

Harley sags like Miles cut the strings to the illusion that was letting him pretend to not be a complete wreck. He scrubs a hand through his hair and the strands flop back into place over his forehead. “Yeah. I should’ve called you or something though. I should be checking in while Peter’s… away. How’ve you been holding up?”

“Better than you, man. You look like crap.”

Harley snorts. “Yeah. Seriously though. Everything okay in your neck of the woods?”

Miles shrugs and picks up a doodad off the workbench and rolls it between his fingers. “Nothing’s changed. Nobody knows. No one’s even noticed Spidey hasn’t been around lately. It’s like…”

“The world’s still spinning but you’re stuck still, wondering why everything isn’t falling apart?”

He snorts softly and sets down the thingamabob. That’s a dramatic take but sure. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Wanna help me put this thing together?” Harley asks after a beat of silence. “It’s a long shot but—,”

“It beats doing nothing. Where do you want me?”

Harley smiles and it looks unnatural, like his face forgot how. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Can Harley even help him when it looks like he’s barely hanging on himself? Would it be fair to ask more of him?

“First things first, you see that panel on the wall over there? Put on some music.”

Miles weaves around piles of metal, hardware, and wires to get to the panel Harley indicated. He taps it to make it light up. “What do you like?”

“Whatever’s fine. It’s just… quiet in here lately.”

Miles nods and taps at the touchscreen keyboard until he finds what he’s looking for. A synth beat begins to play. “This is my favorite. Peter liked it. I had him listen to it a few days ago.”

“Turn it up then,” Harley tells him. “Let’s hear it.”

Miles smiles and cranks it until he can feel the bass pulsing in his bones.

_‘Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy (Ooh)_

_Ooh, Ooh, Ooh, Ooh (Ooh)’_

_Needless to say, I keep in check._

_She was a bad girl, nevertheless (Yeah)_

Halfway through the song, Harley goes still and when Miles glances over at him he sees his eyes are closed and his face is scrunched like he’s in pain. He pretends not to see and gets back to work assembling the parts Harley gave him and tries to follow the schematic.

_Then you’ll be left in the dust_

_Unless I stuck by ya._

_You’re the sunflower._

_I think your love would be too much._

When the song ends and a new one begins Harley sniffs and clears his throat. “Will you play it again?”

Miles doesn’t respond as he gets up, skips back to ‘ _Sunflower’,_ and sets it to repeat.

They work in silence, only speaking to ask for an extra set of hands or to coordinate on the larger pieces.

Harley’s strangely particular about where he stands and it confuses him until he realizes he’s keeping his back to the wall of photos of him and Peter on the far side of the room. They work together more smoothly once Miles starts automatically going to the side of any equipment that faces that wall.

Mr. Stark comes and goes. It seems like there’s always someone wanting his attention and when nine o’clock rolls around, it’s just him and Harley. Miles grabs his bag but hesitates on his way to the door. Harley looks exhausted—drained and depressed and Mr. Stark doesn’t look much better, but they’re not the only ones missing Peter.

“How’s everyone holding up?” he finds himself asking. Yesterday when he’d had stopped by in the evening Mrs. Potts-Stark had turned him away, citing that Harley was finally asleep and that they were waiting on parts. She seemed okay. Not good, but okay.

Harley looks up at him, blankly at first before what Miles asked registers and he shrugs. “Okay, I guess. May’s fine. She thinks we’ll get him back any day now or something. Pepper seemed normal when I saw her this morning. Maybe… more tense than usual? And Tony… well, he’s managing.” He averts his eyes.

“What about… What are their names? His bracelet friends.”

Harley’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God, Ned and MJ! I don’t think anyone’s told them.” He pulls out his phone. “I should… text?” Miles meets his eyes and shakes his head. “Right, right. Definitely call. This is a phone call situation.”

“I’ll uh, leave you to it,” Miles says, hitching his backpack up a little higher on his shoulder.

“Wait,” Harley calls after him before he can get more than one foot out the door. “Thank you, seriously. You’ve been a huge help and,” he wiggles his phone, “MJ would have murdered me if I never told them and they had to find out somehow else. I think it’s gonna take me and Tony a few days to get the new satellite up and running. You can stop by whenever, alright?”

“Yeah sure. Keep me in the loop, okay? Let me know if there are any breakthroughs or anything.”

“I will and Miles?”

Miles raises his eyebrows and meets his sincere stare.

“I’m sorry. For…” He gestures widely. “I overstepped. All I was thinking about was keeping Peter safe. I didn’t even consider how it would impact you and that wasn’t fair to you. So… I’m sorry.”

Miles squints at him. “Are you talking about looking me up? I forgave you for that forever ago, man.”

“Oh,” Harley frowns. “So it’s just me that’s been making this weird.”

Miles laughs. “Mostly. I uh,” he pulls a face, “I guess I get kind of… Don’t laugh, but he’s _Spider-Man,_ you know? And when it’s just the two of us… Like, he’s _Spider-Man._ And it’s just him and me. But when you’re around it’s not just him and me anymore.”

When he can bring himself to meet his stare, he finds Harley smiling softly. This time it looks natural.

“I get it,” he says. “For the record, Peter thinks you’re amazing and he’s kind of terrified you’re going to wise up someday and realize he’s only human and walk out on him or something.”

“What?” Miles blurts. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s what I told him. He doesn’t get what we see. He doesn’t see that he’s… he’s…”

“He’s _Spider-Man.”_

“Exactly,” Harley says. He sighs down at his phone and then tells him, “Swing home safe, alright?”

Miles grins at the reminder that that’s something he gets to do now. “I will.”

Outside the lab, he glances back. Harley is hunched over a workbench staring down at his phone with his knuckle digging into his forehead. The exhaustion from before is back, creasing his face with worry lines and sapping the color from his skin.

He made the right decision in keeping him out of his plan, he thinks.

He takes the elevator up to the roof and steps out into the wind, clutching the strap of his backpack tightly. It’s full dark, but it isn’t _dark._ The lights of the city illuminate everything as far as he can see.

He waits but no alarms blare and no one comes storming out of the tower after him.

After a minute, he unzips his backpack and pulls out the stolen Spider-Man suit and holds it up to look at. It wasn’t hard to swipe it. Harley hadn’t been paying any attention to what he was doing unless they were working together so he was even able to take his time and get picky about which suit he grabbed. It isn’t the oldest dingiest one but it isn’t the nicest newest one either. It’s middle of the road, forgettable, miss-able, and now his.

He thinks Peter would be okay with this. Maybe not with Miles fighting crime on his own when he had a whole plan for easing him into it, but he thinks he’ll forgive him for stealing one of his suits and probably also for what he’s about to do to it.

After all, there’s only one Spider-Man and Miles isn’t him, so he shouldn’t look like him.

He takes out a can of spray paint and gets to work.

~*~

_“¡Puñeta!”_

Heart pounding, he frantically shoots out a web as he rushes through the air, hurtling towards the pavement. It catches and then he’s arcing back up, the shouts and curses of the people on the sidewalk below unintelligible through the pounding in his ears and his panicked thoughts.

That was close.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at the whole web-swinging thing. He _was_ good in the paintball room where everything is still and uniform, but swinging out in the city is completely different. There’s so _much._ The suit helps but there are so many distractions. The mask mutes them just enough to make it possible to stay focused and pick out the best spots to land his webs… right up until the pressure is on apparently.

Under his breath, he lets out a rapid string of curses in Spanish as he scans the street below him. He pulls himself over to a rooftop and runs across to check the next block over but the white Mazda is nowhere in sight. He lost them.

“Dammit!”

Is it supposed to be this hard? Was Peter this bad at it when he first started? Did the bad guys get away from him too?

He flops onto his back, catching his breath and welcoming the roof gravel as it digs into his spine and stabs against his skull. He should be better. He thought it’d be easy. He has _superpowers._ He has _webs._ How hard is it to stick some criminals to a wall and call the cops? Maybe Peter made a mistake choosing him.

He snorts. Not that it was much of a choice considering they’re the only two with their abilities. He probably felt like he _had_ to let Miles do this. He probably wishes that spider would have bit someone older and smarter and more capable than _Miles Morales._ He probably only said yes so he could keep tabs on him and make sure he doesn’t get anyone killed.

The sun is setting fast and he’s only just getting started with his nightly sweep around Queens. He figures it’s the least he can do to make sure crime doesn’t spiral completely out of control in Peter’s home turf. Assuming he can figure out to stop even the simplest carjacking.

He should’ve been able to keep up with them. He needs to be better.

He’s not going to get better laying here wallowing.

Yikes, why does his inner narrative sound like his dad? Gross.

With a sigh, he levers himself back to his feet. Hopefully the next crime he stumbles upon is more stationary. He wishes Karen would help him out with that stuff but she’s radio silent and he hasn’t had the time to hack the suit and figure out how to activate her. He thinks it must be some sort of biometrics thing. She knows he’s not Peter so the suit’s full capabilities are locked down tight. He knows between him and Ganke they can crack it but it feels more important to be out here and all he needs are his web-shooters and the anonymity granted by the suit anyway.

He gets a running start and leaps over the edge of the building, his heart lodged in his throat until his web catches on a building and swings him forward and up. He detaches the web and then he’s falling again until he repeats the process.

How long will it take before that first jump stops scaring the crap out of him?

A few blocks away, a scream is quickly muted. He changes direction, only fumbling for a second before falling back into his rhythm. His heartbeat is already accelerating as he wonders what he’s about to swing into. He follows the sound of a scuffle and finds himself drawn to a dark alley. _Typical._

He lands on a roof and jogs to the edge to look down and get an idea of what he’s up against. There’s a man down there pining a woman to the wall with one hand over her mouth and the other pressing a knife against her abdomen as she fumbles for her purse.

His stomach rolls. There’s no room for error this time. It’s not a car on the line but a life. He can’t screw this up.

He takes a deep breath and scurries over the lip of the roof, crawling as quickly and quietly as he can until he’s close enough to shoot a web at the top of the guy’s head. As soon as it connects, he springs off the wall and flips over the guy, yanking on the line of web as he goes.

The man lets out a strangled yell as he’s ripped backward and topples to the ground, the knife disappearing through a grate.

“Fuck! Spider-Man!” he groans.

“Run,” Miles tells the woman.

She doesn’t need to be told twice and sprints for the street.

He lets out a relieved breath now that she’s out of danger. At least now if he fucks up he’s the only that’ll get hurt.

“Hey man, a little advice, maybe pick a less scuzzy venue for your next outing.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s just nervously babbling trying to sound as blase and carefree as Spider-Man. He hopes his nerves aren’t noticeable. Thank God for the mask.

The man had been scrambling backward further into the alley, but at Miles’s words, he pauses. “You ain’t Spider-Man. What’re you? Some kinda sidekick? A groupie?”

“I’m… I’m filling in,” Miles says, thrown. Is he supposed to be having a conversation with the criminal? He thinks maybe not.

“Fillin’ in for what? He on vacation or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” Miles says and then webs the guy to the ground.

He did it! He stopped the bad guy! _Finally,_ something goes righ—

“Oh come on!” the guy complains, wiggling against the webs for a minute before sneering at Miles. “What’re you gonna do, eh? Call the cops?” He laughs. “You ain’t got no evidence. The broad took off. You’ve got nothin’ on me! Even if they take me in for questioning I’ll be back on the street by morning.” He snorts. “The big guy really fucked up thinkin’ he could leave you in charge, huh? So fuckin’ green.”

Miles stares at him. He’s right. Fuck, he _right._ He’s got nothing. He thought because he stopped the bad guy and saved the woman that he did it. That he _won._ But he didn’t accomplish anything. This guy is just gonna go right back to preying on people and the legal system can’t do anything to stop him.

His first “success” and he didn’t succeed at much of anything. That woman is okay but what about tomorrow? What about an hour from now? Who will this man hurt then?

He puts his hand on the wall and pulls himself up.

“Hey, spider wannabe! You just gonna leave me down here? Some fuckin’ hero you are!”

_Some fuckin’ hero._

He’s no hero, but with Peter missing, he’s the closest thing Queens has got. He’ll have to do.

_Some fuckin’ hero._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy [REDACTED] Wednesday! Don't hate me? Peter POV returns first thing next chapter! Come yell at me in the comments!
> 
> Serotonin fic rec (for your Wednesday serotonin needs!):  
> It's a Small Universe by Dedfa (AntlersandFangs)  
> Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975458/chapters/37264622  
> It's not Marvel and isn't actually a fanfic (even though it's on AO3). It's about aliens meeting humans and humans are thought of as the BAMFs of the universe so the aliens are terrified but then the humans are nice? They pack bond with them and it's just so wholesome and good and there's plenty of serotonin to go around!


	6. Have a crisis on your own time, Tiger

~ **Peter** ~

Colors and shapes pulse and twist around him, _through_ him. He’s squeezed, stretched, compressed, molded, transformed like a lump of putty in the hands of an eager child. It’s too much for his senses and he opens his mouth to scream only to find he no longer has one. It lasts forever but passes in a blink. One moment he’s a spit wad being crammed into the end of a straw and the next he’s been spat out the other end and directly into a brick wall.

He slumps down the very real brick wall and flops flat on his back as his lungs try to remember how to expand. Dazed, he stares up at the twilight sky for several seconds before he remembers it’s supposed to be mid-afternoon.

His face throbs. He gingerly pats at his nose and with a quick motion sets it straight.

“Ow.”

Blinking away the pain with watery eyes, he forces himself into a sitting position, propping himself up with his palms as his head swims. It doesn’t matter how many times he breaks his nose, his eyes always stream.

He’s on a roof and the wall he crashed into is the one the roof access door is set into. He must have hit his head pretty good because everything looks… Fake. It’s like he walked onto the pages of a comic book. He sits up a little straighter and rubs his eyes through his mask. Nothing changes.

“How hard did I hit that wall?” he muses aloud.

“You’re not Miles,” a voice behind him replies.

He jumps to his feet and whirls around to find a slender figure in a pink and white spider-themed suit holding an unfamiliar boxy black device that fits neatly into the palm of her hand. As soon as he locks eyes on her, his Spidey sense flares in that way it only ever has with Miles.

“You’re like me!” he blurts.

She looks 2-D just like the city around them, but he ignores that for now and takes in her suit, lingering on what look like blue ballet slippers on her feet, ribbons neatly twining up her calves and ending in perfect bows. How do those stay on?

And what the hell is wrong with his eyes? No matter how many times he blinks everything stays all… drawn on.

“No,” she says, sounding annoyed, “ _you’re_ like _me.”_ She looks down at the box in her hands and mutters, “What the hell, Peni?” She holds the box closer to her face and says, “Oh, too many threes. Oops.”

She moves to spin a dial on the box thing when Peter suddenly remembers her comment about him not being Miles. Without a second thought, he webs the box out of her hands and yanks it into his.

“Hey, be careful with that!” she snaps. “It’s not like I can just buy a new one if you break it and that’s your ticket home. If anything happens to it, you’re screwed.”

Alarming, but not as alarming as the first thing she said.

“What do you want with Miles?” he demands. He’s gotten better at the intimidation part of the job, per Mr. Criminal’s advice all those years ago. It helps that his voice doesn’t crack anymore. Still, she doesn’t show any sign of being cowed.

“You’re a Peter, aren’t you?” she says conversationally. “You’re acting like a Peter.”

His blood goes cold. “I— What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you saying I’m a dick? Cuz if you are, you should get some new material because the link between the words ‘Peter’ and ‘penis’ is so 50 years ago, I would know. But not because my name’s Peter! Because… I’m… smart.”

_Fuck._

“Alright, you’re cute. I’ll grant you that. I guess we should do this the right way.” She pulls off her mask, revealing an asymmetrical blonde bob and large green eyes, all freakishly comic-esque.

“Uh… That’s a no-no.”

She rolls her eyes. “Gwen Stacy. Nice to meet you. Sorry I accidentally pulled you out of your universe.”

“Uhhhhh…”

Wait, what?

_What?_

_What?!_

“It’s your turn now,” she says with false enthusiasm and a sharp toothy smile.

“To… to pull you out of your universe?” he asks hesitantly. That can’t be what she’s talking about. But he does have the box thing. He looks down at it and can’t make heads or tails of how it could have made that portal. That’s what she used it for, right? “Hey, actually I’ve got some questions—,”

“Your turn to take off your mask and introduce yourself, dummy,” Gwen interrupts like revealing his identity to some rando would ever be on his agenda. Although… his Spidey sense did recognize her. “I did it and now it’s your turn. One friendly neighborhood spider-person to another. That’s how we always do it.”

His brain snags on that little word.

“We?”

“Me and the other spider people,” she says like it’s common knowledge. “It’s kind of ridiculous how many Peter Parkers and Parker variants there are but whatever, I guess. Miles will be excited to find out there’s another him.”

He takes a deep breath and then sits down with a thump.

Gwen eyes him for a moment and then sighs and follows suit, leaning against an air conditioning box and tucking one knee to her chest.

“You’re taking this pretty hard, huh?” she says.

He ignores her. “You’re saying the multiverse is real,” he says, gaze intent on her face.

“Yes,” she says, no hesitation.

“And there are multiple spider-powered people?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m in an alternate universe right now.”

“Alternate is a matter of perspective, but yes.”

His jaw hangs as he attempts to take all of that in. This changes… Well nothing probably, but it blows his mind. “That… is… amazing! Holy crap, this is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me!”

He jumps to his feet and steps over to Gwen and pokes her shoulder. She’s solid. Like, weirdly solid. There’s not as much give under his touch as there would be for a normal… fleshy person. “Woah.”

She glares at him and stands up.

“You look like a comic book character,” he blurts and then spins around looking out at the city. “This whole place looks like it was drawn!”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” she grumbles. “If it makes you feel better, you look like a horrifying flesh monster. Or so I assume.” She pointedly eyes his mask.

“That’s so awesome.” He looks down at his body but he looks the same as always. He supposes to someone used to living in a 2-D comic book world with sharp lines and solid colors, someone like him, soft and flawed and unlined, would seem grotesque.

“Okay if you’re that shy you can keep the mask on I guess, but just know you’re breaking tradition in a major way.”

“Oh, right.” If Gwen really is a spider person like him (and his spider-sense says she is) then he figures he can trust her. Besides, this isn’t even his universe. He tucks the boxy thing under one arm and pulls off his mask with the other, quickly using it to wipe away the blood under his nose. He fluffs his hand through his hair to unstick it from his sweaty scalp as he smiles sheepishly.

Gwen blinks.

“I’m uh, Peter.”

“You’re a _baby,”_ Gwen cries. “I thought you sounded young but _Jesus.”_

“I’m an adult,” he squawks. Man, when is he gonna grow out of this baby face and get some freaking respect? “I turned 18 like three months ago!”

Gwen stares. “Oh my God, Peter’s gonna kill me.”

Peter perks up. “An adult me? _Adultier,_ I mean,” he hurriedly corrects when Gwen raises an eyebrow. Just one eyebrow, perfectly, in a way that can only be achieved in animation.

He’s kinda jealous.

Okay, super jealous.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. He’s turned it around quite a bit since I met him, but he’s still a Peter so there’s only so much you can do about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gwen smirks. “I’ve never met a Peter that wasn’t a complete disaster.”

Peter opens his mouth to argue then remembers last week when he signed an email to his professor with ‘Love, Peter’. He closes his mouth. “Yeah, okay fair. Do I get to meet other Peter? You’re not gonna make me go home, are you? My first trip to an alternate universe has to last more than five minutes.”

She hesitates so he breaks out what Mr. Stark calls his Bambi eyes. She doesn’t seem fazed but she doesn’t tell him that he has to go home either so he considers them a success.

“Yeah you can meet him if you want to stay and help, but you should know the longer you stay in a universe you don’t belong, the more often—,”

He drops to his knees, electricity ripping through him, paralyzing him so thoroughly he can’t even scream as his nerve endings go up in flames. As quickly as it begins, it ends, leaving him gasping and clutching his chest. Luckily, he didn’t drop the box thing. Sticky fingers are truly a blessing.

“That happens,” Gwen grunts, getting to her feet.

“What was that?” he gasps, patting his chest gently. He feels fine now. Only a phantom pain lingering in the wake of whatever that was.

“Our atoms don’t like being in the wrong universe.”

“Wait. So why did it happen to you?”

Gwen quirks an eyebrow. “This isn’t my universe, genius. Peter B. sent me a distress signal so I came here.”

“Wait, other Peter’s in trouble?”

“First, if anyone’s ‘other Peter’ it’s you since this is his universe. And yeah, that’s what I just said, isn’t it? Far as I can tell from the reconnaissance I’ve done, shit’s pretty fucked here. It’s gonna take some work to straighten out. So if you wanna stay and help that’d be cool, but I still wanna get Miles here. _My Miles,”_ she adds when he looks confused.

“Oh.” He looks down at the black box thing in his hands and then after a moment’s thought holds it out to her. “Guess you need this back then.”

“Thanks,” she says sardonically as she takes it. “Remember 1433 if you want to make it back to the right universe.”

“Right. 1433.” He wishes he had a pen.

“Thanks for not breaking it. With his luck, Peter B. probably already broke his so if anything happens to this that’ll mean a slow and painful death for both of us unless we can figure out how to fix it.” She says it with a nonchalance that he could never hope to achieve. Then she turns a dial and checks everything over one last time before hitting a button on top.

A portal explodes in front of them and Peter jumps back as his Spidey sense once again gives him no warning. He’d only gotten the barest glimpse of the portal as he flew through it so he steps closer to get a better look. It’s like a blotchy black hole ripped open the air and is belching bubbles of color that disappear before they hit the concrete roof.

“Woah.” He tugs his mask over his head. “Karen, are you getting this?”

“Yes, although I seem to be having trouble connecting to F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s servers.”

“That tracks,” he mutters.

He’s completely cut off with no way to send a message to Mr. Stark or Harley to let them know what’s going on. Fuck. That’s inconvenient. He hopes they don’t worry too much. Poor Miles is already probably losing it after having undoubtedly watched him disappear. Hopefully no one tells Aunt May. He should be back before she needs to know he was ever gone.

“Can you save the energy readings internally and then upload them to the server next time you connect to F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Of course.”

“You’re the best.”

He looks away from the portal to find Gwen staring at him.

“Your suit talks,” she says.

“Oh, uh yeah! That’s Karen. My A.I. Say hi, Karen.”

“Hello, Gwen,” Karen says. “Can I call you Gwen or is there an alias you prefer?”

“Uh, Gwen’s fine unless non-spider-people are around. Then it’s Spider-Woman.”

_Spider-Woman._

Peter pulls off his mask, unable to help himself as he bounces on the balls of his feet, excitement pumping through him like adrenaline. “This is so cool. Oh man, Harley’s gonna be so jealous.” He winces at the reminder that he’s probably super worried right about now. Surely Miles sounded the alarm as soon as Peter vanished.

“Hey you said something about a distress signal,” he says, an idea popping into his head. “D’you have anything that could send a message to my people and let them know I’m okay?”

Gwen shakes her head and Peter’s vague hope snuffs out like a candle. She gestures to the box. “Messages can only be sent and received between the devices.”

“Dang. Well, hopefully this’ll be quick. Shouldn’t he be out by now?”

Gwen shrugs. “He’s probably changing into his suit. Or maybe he was in the middle of taking a dump,” she adds with a smirk.

Peter wrinkles his nose. “That’d be embarrassing. I was web-swinging and it popped up pretty much right on top of me.”

“Well it wasn’t aiming for you, was it? I had it calibrated to find Miles but typed in the wrong universe code. He must have been with you, right? Your Miles, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He goes cold at the thought of what would have happened if Miles been the one to go through the portal and he’d been the one left behind with no idea what had happened. He’d have freaked out. He’d have freaked out bad.

The portal flickers and Gwen says, “You should step ba—,”

The portal constricts and then a person falls out of it right into Peter and they both go crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs as the portal closes in on itself and vanishes.

“What the—,”

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter springs to his feet and grabs the other guy’s arm to help him to his feet. “That was my bad. I was— Woah. Trippy.” He looks just like his Miles only a few years older and several inches taller, wearing a badass black suit with a red spider spray-painted on the chest. And of course, he also looks like a comic book character. “Did you paint that? That’s rad as hell.”

“Uhh, yeah?” Other Miles looks him up and down and then turns to Gwen who’s smirking in amusement.

Peter gets the feeling she could have warned him to step back with plenty of time for him to move but she chose not to. Rude.

“Another Peter?” Miles asks. “Where’d this one come from?”

Gwen loses the smirk and pulls a face. “I messed up the universe code and accidentally got him.”

“Smooth. Wait, just the universe code? Then it shouldn’t have taken you to a Peter.” He turns back to Peter. “Assuming you’re a Peter, I mean. You seem the type.”

“Uh yeah, no I am. How many Peters have you guys met?”

Gwen and Miles trade a look and shrug.

“Feels like a hundred,” Miles says.

“Five,” Gwen says. “Six, including you, but that’s not counting Peter Parker variants or that one actor guy in that weird universe without superheroes.”

Whatever _that_ means.

She turns back to Miles. “His universe has a Miles,” she says with a grin.

Miles lights up.

“The portal went to him but this one fell in.”

“I was webbing!” Peter sputters defensively.

“And another Miles was with you?” Miles asks, excitement coloring his words. “He has spidey powers too?”

“Uh yeah. He got them pretty recently so I’ve been trying to help him out. Actually, I have so many questions for you. Can you do the invisible thing too? And the electricity?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh thank God. Tell me everything. I need a pen. And paper. No, wait. Karen will remind me of anything I forget. We’re good.”

“Karen?” Miles echos, glancing at Gwen.

“His suit talks,” Gwen says, widening her eyes.

“No shit?”

“It’s… She’s an A.I. I could put one together for you if you want. I just need a lab or something.”

“Oh man, maybe if we were in my universe,” Miles says. “We could use my Peter’s shed. I think Peter B.’s shed is just a shed.”

“Your universe has a Peter too? Hold on. Do you have two Spider-Mans?” He pulls a face. “Spider-Men?”

Miles and Gwen trade uncomfortable expressions and then look away, Gwen biting her lip and Miles scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, not exactly. My Peter… Well, he _was_ Spider-Man.”

His brain screeches to a halt.

“So he… retired?” he asks stupidly. If this other Peter is anything like him, he knows that’s not what happened. Spider-Man can’t retire. There’s only one reason he’ll ever hang up the suit and that’s if he dies in it.

Miles shakes his head.

“He’s dead?” he asks, feeling hollow.

 _How?_ He wants to ask. How can he die? He’s been shot, stabbed, burned, crushed, impaled, electrocuted, drowned, and he’s walked away from all of it. _What can kill me? What should I watch out for?_

He can’t get the words out from between his lips. Does he really want to know?

“Yeah,” Miles says with a sympathetic grimace. “Didn’t even get the chance to get to know the guy. Day after I got bit, Fisk got him.”

Peter goes cold. Fisk. Fisk can kill him. He takes a moment to process that and then tucks it away deep down inside of him where he won’t have to look at it for a long long time. That leaves him with only one thing to dwell on.

“So he didn’t mentor you?” he asks.

Miles snorts. “Nah. I had to make do with Peter B.” He shrugs and something of a fond smile curls his lips. “It worked out. Just took a leap of faith.”

Peter frowns. “I guess,” he mumbles. Leap of faith? What’s _that_ supposed to mean?

“Can we do this later?” Gwen asks. “Peter B. needs our help.”

“Right,” Miles says, refocusing in a way that’s fascinating to Peter. He’s so much like his Miles just… older. Experienced. It’s weirding him out a little. “What’d he get into this time?”

“I haven’t had a ton of time to look into it but there are some… concerning news articles about Spider-Man.”

“Concerning how?” Miles asks. “Like the Bugle?”

“Not just the Bugle. All of them,” Gwen says with a grimace. “And there are pictures. The Bugle is lapping it up of course, but it doesn’t look like they started it. It looks legit.”

“What is _it_ exactly?” Miles asks.

Gwen pulls a face. “They’ve got photo evidence of Spider-Man committing crimes.”

“Crimes?” Peter asks. “Like… Jaywalking?”

“No,” Gwen says grimly.

“Littering?”

“No.”

“Public indecency? There have been some rough fights that have left my suit a little—,”

“Like armed robbery and grand theft auto.”

 _“Armed_ robbery?” Peter sputters. “Like with a _gun?”_

Gwen nods. “There’s video. It looks real.”

“The gun looks real or—?”

They ignore him.

“That doesn’t sound like Peter B.,” Miles says. “How’s he holding up? He laying low?”

“Well…” Gwen hesitates. “That’s the other thing. He turned himself in. He’s in solitary at Rikers until they figure out what to do about this whole mess.”

 _“What?!”_ Peter and Miles exclaim.

“He actually did it?” Peter asks, sick to his stomach at the idea of a Spider-Man gone dark side.

“No,” Gwen and Miles say.

“I watched the video,” Gwen says. “It doesn’t look like it was tampered with and it’s Peter’s suit, but the mannerisms are all wrong. The Spider-Man in the video isn’t Peter. I’m sure of it.”

“Then why would he turn himself in?” Miles asks.

Gwen shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Impostor Spidey is threatening him?”

Miles shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like something Peter would play into.”

“Yeah I know,” Gwen sighs. “I just don’t know what else to think.”

“To get them to stop,” Peter says.

Miles and Gwen turn to look at him.

It’s obvious. It’s what he would do. His job is to protect people. If people are being robbed at gunpoint by someone dressed like him then he’s extra responsible in making sure they stop. If for whatever reason, he can’t physically stop them then he’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means a bad time for him.

“Think about it,” he says. “If he turns himself in then either the other Spider-Man keeps doing the crimes and clears real Spidey’s name by the simple fact that it can’t be him, or fake Spidey stops doing the crimes and real Spidey wins anyway. It’s… It’s what I would do. As long as they didn’t make me unmask.”

“Peters think alike, I guess,” Gwen grumbles. “I didn’t see anything about his identity being revealed so he probably struck some kind of deal with them to let him stay masked for now. Who knows how long they’ll stick to that though.”

“How long has he been locked up?” Miles asks.

“A few hours. The media’s going nuts over it.”

“We should lay low then,” Miles says. “If they’re already foaming at the mouth for Peter’s blood, we don’t want to offer up three more Spideys as possible suspects or accomplices or something. Especially you,” Miles says to Peter, “since you look like… that.”

He sighs. Man, why couldn’t he have been born into one of the cool comic book universes? Life is cruel.

~*~

They end up changing into street clothes and taking the subway to the other side of the city to get closer to Rikers. He takes the 2-D clothes Gwen snagged from a donation box and somehow they fit around his 3-D body while retaining their hand-drawn quality. It makes his brain hurt if he looks at them too long so he pulls the baseball cap low over his face and sticks close to Gwen and Miles. Luckily, the sun has fully set so no one looks at him twice.

Man, he loves New York.

Task one is to make sure Peter B. is okay and hasn’t been forced to unmask. They decide only Miles should actually go inside and talk to him since, duh, invisibility. They don’t want to risk getting caught sneaking in and 1) reveal their existence and 2) make it look like they were trying to break him out thus ruining his whole plan.

Task two is to figure out what task number two is. Or would that make it task three? Whatever the number, they need to figure out where to start. Swinging around the city looking for a Spidey impostor isn’t an option and that’s pretty much his only M.O. when it comes to hunting down bad guys.

They’re still on the subway when his bracelets start vibrating and don’t let up.

“Aww, man.”

He touches the sensors a few times but they keep vibrating like crazy. Did Ned and MJ find out he left? He touches the sensors again but they don’t stop buzzing against his skin. Are they broken? Did the portal mess them up? His suit made it through fine and so did his web-shooters so he doesn’t think that’s it, but he can’t imagine Ned and MJ both ignoring his signal back to them. Maybe he can receive their signal but his isn’t getting through.

“What are those?” Other Miles asks.

Peter looks up and finds both Other Miles and Gwen peering curiously at his bracelets. “They’re synced with my friends. You’re supposed to be able to touch the sensor and the other pair will vibrate. It’s not supposed to be like this though.”

Dammit. He hopes they aren’t broken. There isn’t an easy way to open them up and check the circuitry. He’ll have to tear them apart and then try to put them back together and he’s not sure how pretty they’ll look after that. He doesn’t think that’s the problem though. What are the chances that both of them broke at the exact same time? It’s far more likely that it’s something about being in a different universe that’s causing the problem.

“That’s pretty cool,” Gwen says. “Those look way less bulky than the kind we have on my Earth.”

“Oh yeah, ours aren’t this good either,” Peter says. “My uh, my boyfriend made these actually.” He knows he has a big dopey smile on his face, but he can’t help it. They’re the best, most thoughtful gift he’s ever been given. “But umm, yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with them.”

“Could be the time passage difference,” Other Miles says.

He goes still. “The what?”

“It’s not a huge difference,” he says quickly. “In Gwen’s universe time moves faster than in my universe, but it’s almost nothing. Like, I spend two hours in her universe and two and a half hours pass in mine. It’s not a big deal.”

He frowns. He hopes that holds true for his universe. He already feels bad for disappearing on them. He’d hate for them to have to worry longer than it takes to help this universe’s Spider-Man.

“That’s impressive that the signal can reach across universes. Wonder how he pulled that off,” Gwen says.

Peter smiles. “He had to get the signal to reach from New York to California. Guess he over-did it a little.”

~*~

Him and Gwen camp out near some shipping containers in a seldom monitored nook on the island while they wait for Other Miles to talk to Peter B.

He considers taking a nap. It’s dark now and he’s not sure when his next chance to rest will be, but he feels wide awake. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s simply not tired or because of where they are, so close to so many of Spider-Man’s enemies, even if they aren’t technically _his_ enemies.

Luckily, it turns out to be a moot point because not much later Other Miles returns and they book it off the island before they get caught.

“So? What did he say?”

“He thinks it’s Chameleon.”

Gwen throws her head back and groans. “Not that clown.”

“Chameleon?” Peter asks.

They ignore him.

“Better than a clone,” Other Miles says.

Gwen shudders. “Point.”

“Clone?” Peter asks, incredulous, but he’s once again ignored.

“So we need to draw him out,” Gwen says. “Which one of you wants to put on Peter B.’s suit and swing around Times Square?”

Peter and Other Miles trade looks.

“Do I… look like him?” Peter asks.

“No,” Other Miles and Gwen say.

“None of us do,” Gwen continues, “so we’ll have to work with what we have. Obviously, I can’t do it but maybe no one will look too closely if Spider-Man is more slender than they’re used to seeing.”

“I’ll do it,” Peter says. “I can’t go around in my suit anyway since I look like…” He gestures to himself and Other Miles and Gwen grimace and look away.

Rude.

“Okay,” Gwen says. “All we need to do is get Peter B.’s suit, be seen swinging around the city to make Chameleon think Peter B. was released so that he’ll come out of hiding, and then catch him committing a crime and publicly expose him as an impostor.”

“Easy as pie,” Other Miles mutters. “There’s no way this can go wrong.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Other Miles looks to Peter who shrugs.

“Nope.” Other Miles faces Gwen. “Let’s go steal a suit I guess.”

~*~

The bad feeling in the pit of Peter’s stomach gets stronger the farther they get into Queens. He tugs his hat farther down to cover his face and stuffs his hands into his pockets. It’s a cold night but not terrible with his suit heater keeping his core warm. Miles and Gwen are shivering. He’s dying to give their suits an upgrade but there isn’t time. Not to mention the equipment he’d need. And then there’s the glitching.

His arm fritzes in and out as his atoms attempt to flee back to the correct universe and he grits his teeth through the pain. He’s gotten somewhat used to it since that first time. It still hurts like hell but the world doesn’t white-out around him every time.

They turn down a familiar, well-lit street and he doesn’t need Gwen to point at the little house half-way down the block and say, “There it is.”

It’s the house he grew up in. The one linked to all of his most cherished memories of Uncle Ben. They lived here up until May decided it would be best for them to start fresh somewhere else and let the ghost of Ben go. At the time Peter had been fully on board with the plan. Then he walked by one day and saw the new owners had it painted over the garish green with a warm homey yellow and he felt sick.

This house, Peter B.’s house, is garish green. Weirdly, a house in an alternate universe looks more like his childhood home than his actual childhood home. Which begs the question, how _old_ is Peter B.? The way Gwen was talking, it sounded like he’s significantly older than him. If that’s the case, why is he still living with Aunt May? Is it that impossible to hold down a job _and_ be Spider-Man? He’s often wondered how he’ll make that work, but he makes school work, doesn’t he? Why would a job be any different? At least his employer won’t give him homework.

Is… Uncle Ben in there? Did he survive in this universe? Did Peter B. not storm out that night? Did he stop the robber the first time he saw him instead of leaving him to be the police’s problem? If he’s alive in this universe, does he want to see him? Or would it be best if he stays away?

He doesn’t realize he has stopped walking until Other Miles puts his hand on his shoulder.

“You wanna sit this one out?”

“No,” he says shrilly before he gives himself the chance to take the out. He clears his throat. “I’m… I’m good. Just curious, umm, who’s uh… Who d’you think’s home?”

He shrugs. “Probably just MJ and the baby. Why?”

Peter chokes on his spit. _“What?!”_

Other Miles rubs the back of his neck looking awkward. “Uh, yeah. He’s married to a woman. We kinda thought that’d be different for you since you mentioned a boyfriend…”

“I mean, I’m bi and me and MJ dated for a little bit but we liked being friends better and I don’t think she’s actually all that straight but she’s still figuring that out and all of that is beside the point.” He takes a breath. “She would methodically _remove my flesh from my bones_ if I ever got her pregnant. Please tell me that by ‘baby’ you mean a cute fluffy animal.”

The look Other Miles and Gwen trade tells him that is in fact, _not_ what they meant.

“Oh my God. I can never go home.”

Gwen rolls her eyes hard and grabs him by the elbow. “Come on you absolute child. Let’s get this over with. If we do it right she won’t even know we were here.”

~*~

They do not do it right.

In fact, as they stand face to face with an animated red-head who is MJ’s opposite in every conceivable way, Peter thinks it couldn’t have gone wrong faster. It makes him wonder if this universe is out to get him too. Maybe Parker Luck is a multi-universal constant and it doesn’t discriminate against interlopers such as himself.

Pick a Parker. Any Parker.

“Hey.”

Thin pale fingers snap in front of his nose and he refocuses on Not-My-MJ in front of him. Her bright hair is tied back in an elegantly sloppy ponytail and a brown jacket hugs her sides like an old friend. The boots on her feet are well-worn and the way she stands with her feet apart gives the impression that not only has she taken on the world and won, but she’s ready to do so again.

“Have a crisis on your own time, Tiger. You guys _are_ the friends Pete said he called, aren’t you? Are you going to help me clear my husband’s name or not?”

~ **Miles** ~

Miles surveys the skyline, satisfaction warm in his chest. He’s really doing it. He just webbed up his fourth mugging of the night and it’s only ten o’clock. Maybe he’s not as good as Peter. Maybe he’s still sloppy. Maybe Peter would have also managed to catch those guys robbing the bodega, but he’s doing it! He’s keeping the criminals in Queens from overrunning the place and he’s even starting a little footprint of his own in Brooklyn.

Still, for every win, it seems like a flurry of pitfalls quickly follows.

_Crack!_

“Ow! Come on!”

He rubs the side of his head and glares at the drone now whirling pathetically on the rooftop. That’s the third one in only a week!

Before the owner can turn up and chew him out for breaking their expensive toy, he webs off into the night. He’s got more criminals to catch.

~*~

“What’s your deal today, man? You didn’t go back out after I fell asleep last night did you?”

Miles doesn’t lift his cheek from the cafeteria table as he mumbles, “Loud.”

Also smelly. And bright. He was hoping eating would help but so far the school’s mac n cheese has only managed to make him feel sick on top of everything else and remind him that he still can’t use plastic utensils without snapping them in half. He wants to die. He wants to fade from this earth and be reborn as a… a jellyfish or a freaking tree or something. As long as it doesn’t have a head or ears or eyes or a nose then he’s not feeling particularly choosy.

“You should take a sick day,” Ganke says around a mouthful of food.

The noodles squeak between his teeth and his throat muscles contract as he swallows.

Miles puts his hands over his ears. “Can’t. On probation.”

“What? For what?”

Skipping class. Sneaking out at night. Leaving to go to the bathroom in the middle of class and never returning. Tardies. Soooo many tardies. His parents are _pissed._ He’s grounded basically forever. Break is going to be hell.

No one ever told him being a vigilante would mean sabotaging not only his academic record but his home life too. Oh, wait. Actually, he’s pretty sure Peter warned him about exactly this but Peter’s not freaking _here_ so he’s got to figure out how to make it work on his own. He’s doing a piss poor job of it but at least he’s trying. At least he’s _here._

“Look alive, it’s Mr. Dutcher.”

Miles groans, but dutifully lifts his head and tries not to look as miserable as he feels.

“Morales!” The Vice Principal barks, his over-polished shoes squeaking to a stop in front of him.

Miles resists the urge to shade his eyes as he tips his chin up to meet his bristling mustache and suspicious squint. “Morning, Mr. Dutcher. How ‘bout that game last night, huh?” He doesn’t even know what sport is in season right now. Is it still football? What day is it? Isn’t Thanksgiving coming up soon?

“Are you hungover?” Mr. Dutcher asks, blunt and full of undeserved judgment like he has been since Miles first set foot in Brooklyn Visions Academy.

“Whaaat? Pfft, _no._ I have an uh… I get menopause sometimes.” Wait, no. Wrong ‘M’ word! “Migraines! I get migraines.”

Ganke’s cheeks are bulging with the laugh he’s biting back and honestly he wouldn’t think less of him if he let loose and busted up. What even is his life anymore? Menopause? Come _on._

Mr. Dutcher regards him through narrowed eyes. “I’m watching you, Morales,” he says. “You better toe the line because the instant you step over it I’m taking you down. We don’t tolerate drug use on this side of Brooklyn.”

His spine goes straight and his shoulders pull back but Ganke kicks him hard in the ankle before he can open his mouth and dig his grave. Still, jaw clenched, he stares hard at Mr. Dutcher’s back as he galumphs back to where the teachers are clustered against the far wall. He takes a small measure of satisfaction at their reluctance as they make room for him in their group.

“I hate that guy,” Ganke says.

He doesn’t look like he’s trying not to laugh anymore—instead, staring daggers into Mr. Dutcher’s back, same as Miles. It makes him feel a little better. Even though everything sucks right now, at least he’s not alone.

“C’mon, I still need to grab my books.” Ganke stacks their trays and hooks a leg over the bench as he shoots him a concerned look. “You gonna make it through the day? You really don’t look good.”

“I’ll manage.” Somehow. He still has to patrol tonight. It’s gonna be a long day but crime isn’t going to take a night off just because he’s feeling lousy. He’s got a responsibility he can’t shirk.

~*~

He tries not to limp as he walks away from Tony Stark’s personal lab. Last night was rough. His senses were still in overdrive when he went out on patrol, making everything a distraction. He had to call it early, swinging home with his tail between his legs and blood pooling in his boot.

Ganke helped him treat the stab wound in his thigh but it still hurts to walk on. Somehow his vigilantism has managed to fly under Tony Stark’s radar and he’s not about to give himself away with something as silly as a little limp.

He doesn’t like coming here anymore. It’s depressing. Everything in the tower feels so fragile.

Harley is only half-present in any given moment. He’s always been distant, but this is different. Instead of reserved, he’s melancholy. Instead of awkward, he’s lost in his own head. And there’s no Peter to bridge the gap and keep things from becoming uncomfortable.

To stay in the loop, he makes sure to visit often but he never stays long. There’s nothing for him to _do_ here. Even injured, he’s a better help out in the city.

The elevator door opens as he approaches and Pepper Potts-Stark steps out into the otherwise empty hallway. He stops dead in his tracks. He’s only ever met her in person once very briefly as she sent him home the day after Peter vanished, but he knows enough about her to feel a healthy mixture of fear and respect.

She seems surprised to see him but only for a moment before a soft smile creases the lines beside her eyes.

“Hi Miles.”

The elevator closes. There’s a weird soft thumping coming from behind her, barely audible over the rush of the HVAC system but he ignores it as his palms begin to sweat.

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Hi umm, Mrs.—,”

“Call me Pepper.”

“Right. Pepper. Well, I better get—,”

“If I asked you to stop, would you listen?” she asks abruptly.

His eyes widen and his heart thunders. “I don’t… What do you—,”

She quells his half-hearted protests with a look. “Tony and Harley may have buried their heads in the sand but I still watch the news. I know what you’re doing. I can’t say I approve but I get the feeling that you spider boys are cut from the same cloth. If you won’t stop then I’d like to help if you’ll accept it.”

Miles stares at her. There’s no mistaking her meaning.

She sighs when he remains silent. “Can I at least give you my phone number so if there’s an emergency you have someone to call? Tony and Harley are… distracted and you shouldn’t be on your own out there.”

How does one say no to Pepper Potts-Stark?

One doesn’t.

He unlocks his phone and hands it over, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he remembers a similar encounter in an abandoned subway tunnel with Spider-Man.

His life’s gotten weird.

Pepper hands the phone back but doesn’t release it when he grabs it. “Call me, okay?” she says, holding eye contact. “If you need help or if it seems like too much and you just need someone to talk to. You’re not alone, alright?”

He nods. There’s no way he’s ever going to call her.

She must see it in his eyes because she looks tired as she releases his phone. “How’s Harley?” she asks instead of calling him out.

He shrugs. How _is_ Harley? “Quiet,” he says. “He looks tired.”

Pepper frowns. “I think he needs an intervention. Tony too.”

How is he part of this conversation? Since when does his life involve conspiring with famous people to take care of other famous people?

“Umm.”

Pepper smiles at him, amused and rueful in equal measure. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to stick around for it. It’s not going to be pretty. Just… take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Miles says. He’s going to do his best at any rate. Right after he takes care of Queens. And Brooklyn. And school. Yep, right after those things, he’ll definitely take care of himself.

Pepper puts a hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. That thumping noise is louder now and it’s not coming from behind her like he first thought. He frowns and focuses. Listening.

It’s coming from _inside_ of her. There’s her heartbeat… and then there’s another, softer heartbeat.

Holy crap.

He stares at her flat stomach. Does she know? Harley didn’t say anything but would she tell him this early? It has to be early, right? He’s no pregnancy expert but he’s not clueless.

He realizes he’s staring and wrenches his gaze up. There’s a confused wrinkle between her eyebrows that quickly smooths and is replaced by a carefully guarded expression. He doesn’t know what kind of look is on his face but it’s clear that she knows that he knows.

“Don’t tell Tony,” she says quietly. “He’s… Let him focus on Peter. I’ll tell him. Once Peter’s home safe, I’ll tell him.”

Oh shit. Not even Mr. Stark knows? He found out before her _husband?_ The father of the child growing inside of her? Oh no. This is going to be a disaster.

“I won’t— Of course not. I— That’s your business.” He pauses. “Does _anyone_ know?”

Her lips press together in a flat line as she shakes her head. “This can wait until Peter’s safe.”

He’s pretty sure babies don’t care about that sort of thing. This isn’t right. She shouldn’t have to deal with this alone while Peter’s missing.

What would Spider-Man do?

He holds up his phone and wiggles it at her. “Two-way street. If you’re dying for funnel cake or— or a pickle wrapped in bacon, let me know and I’ll swing one over.”

She looks surprised for a second before a smile blooms across her face. It’s the first smile he’s seen on her that doesn’t look practiced.

“I might just take you up on that.”

After they part ways, he suits up on the roof and hesitates before leaping. He pulls out his phone and shoots out a quick text to his newest contact.

_‘I’m serious about the pickle thing’_

A few seconds later, his phone buzzes in his hand.

_‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about funnel cakes since you brought them up.’_

He smiles. Funnel cake he can do.

~*~

“Spider-Man!”

His heart leaps. That’s him! Sort of. Until Peter gets back anyway.

He changes direction and thwips to the ground to land beside the white-haired man who called out to him. Up close, he’s not as old as he expected. He’s helped plenty of elderly folks carry groceries and open sticky jars, but this guy is straight-backed and fit with close-cropped hair and a clean-shaven jaw.

Somehow he doesn’t think he’s going to be asked to get a cat out of a tree.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

The guy’s face flickers with hesitation.

Maaayyybe he shouldn’t try so hard to deepen his voice.

“You work with Spider-Man,” the man says after a beat. “The other Spider-Man.”

_The real Spider-Man. The Spider-Man who’s good at being Spider-Man. Spider-Man, Spider-Man._

“Yeah, I’m filling in while the big guy’s on vacation.” The lie comes easily. Repetition breeds familiarity.

“Right. I…” The man hesitates again.

“Sir,” Miles lowers his voice, “whatever it is, I’m here to help.”

The man nods and takes a breath as resolve settles over his face. “My daughter’s missing.”

Aw man.

“You’ve already gone to the police?” Miles asks.

The man’s lips twitch into something of an ironic smile. “They haven’t said so in as many words but they think she took off on her own. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I know her. It’s not like her to vanish without a word. She’s stubborn and headstrong and if she has a problem with you, she lets you know it. Something happened.”

Oh man.

“When did you last see her?”

The man sniffs and looks down, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s been months now. I know… I know it’s been too long, but if you could keep an eye out, I’m desperate. She was doing an experimental trial with Oscorp. Some kind of miracle drug. I didn’t like it and tried to talk her out of it but, like I said, she’s stubborn. She vanished two weeks after the trial started. I don’t know if it’s related but my gut says it’s not a coincidence.”

Oh man, this is big. Maybe too big. What is he supposed to do? A kidnapping? A dirty mega-corporation? Oh man.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” he promises. “If I find anything, who do I—,”

“George Stacy,” the man says and Miles nearly chokes on his spit.

He knows that name. He _more than knows_ that name. Captain George Stacy has been a household name as far back as he can remember. He knows more about Captain George Stacy than he does the president.

Captain Stacy pulls a folded up square out of his pocket and hands it to him. The edges are soft and the creases are deep. Miles unfolds it and a pretty blonde around Peter’s age smiles up at him, green eyes wide, nose crinkled in a silent laugh. ‘Missing’ is printed across the top of the page in bold black letters.

“If you find any sign of Gwen—,”

“I know where to find you.”

He swings away feeling light-headed. The Captain Stacy is asking for his help. His dad’s idol. The guy that convinced his dad that good cops can actually exist. The guy whose ethics and compassion persuaded his dad to enroll in the police academy.

Oh man. He _cannot_ screw this up.

He sticks to the shadowed side of a building to catch his breath. He shouldn’t have to do this on his own. Peter is supposed to be helping him, showing him the ropes, keeping him from screwing up. How is he supposed to figure this out by himself?

_‘I’ve always got your back, Miles.’_

“Yeah?” he mumbles, staring out over the city as the sun sinks below the horizon. “Then where are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!!! I want to know who got excited when they saw the chapter title. Also, have I said that Miles's storyline is my favorite? Because Miles's storyline is my favorite. Our Miles, I mean. 🤭
> 
> I hope you all love this chapter at least half as much as I do! I adore all of the comments from you wonderful wonderful people <333


	7. This is why people become supervillains

~ **Harley** ~

After the satellite is built, installed, and operational there’s nothing else to do except monitor it. The range is incredible. He’s seeing farther out into their universe than he ever thought possible without leaving the comfort of his own home. Tony said something about selling his design to NASA but he doesn’t see why he needs to profit from it. He’d be happy to gift it to them. Just knowing that NASA is benefiting from something he designed would be reward enough. He doesn’t need the money and their budget is tight as it is.

The tower is quiet. He’s been too involved in his project to keep close tabs on everyone else but he knows they’re all pitching in where they can. Last he knew, Thor was putting the word out throughout the galaxy, asking people to contact them if they run into someone who meets Peter’s description. It’s a long shot, but Hail Mary’s are all they’ve got at this point.

He walked in on a call from him where he was telling Tony about some group he ran into that call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy or some sanctimonious bullshit. Supposedly they killed some purple alien dude who was trying to wipe out half the universe with some rocks? There was a dance battle? He knows Thor can be gullible but come on, man. They’re obviously messing with him.

Regardless, they did promise to keep an eye out for Peter and to call Tony if they found him. Thor said they seemed fixated on whether or not there would be a reward and Tony told him he’d figure out something that a bunch of aliens would consider a worthy trade. Maybe an upgrade to their equipment?

Harley suggested they could probably get away with giving them a bunch of Little Debbie snacks. Aliens probably don’t get a lot of Earth-tier junk food out there in the universe. Tony didn’t seem to think the idea had much merit but Thor was 100% on board and suggested perhaps some Poptarts as well.

He isn’t sure where everyone else is. Last he heard, Sam, Nat, Steve, and Bucky had all safely returned from their flights around the globe without any success in finding even a hint of Peter and are now chasing wild and unorthodox leads scrounged from S.H.E.I.L.D. files to try and find someone who can help. The only one he heard about in any detail involved a supposed actual wizard living here in New York.

He wasn’t allowed to go with them to meet the wizard (bogus), but he has it on good authority (i.e. Tony) that he wasn’t that impressive. Probably a phony. According to the wizard, he would have needed to see the portal himself to tell where it led but he seemed confident that Peter isn’t on their plane of existence anymore (whatever the fuck that means) and said that he’ll keep an ear out for anyone out of place in the other planes (whatever _that_ means).

Like Tony said, probably a big ole fraud.

With nothing better to do, he immerses himself in learning nanotech. His suit needs a serious upgrade. His Iron… whatever… suit. He’s not a superhero and he’s got no interest in becoming one but when he needs the suit, he needs it fast. Running down to the lab that day Peter vanished took way too much time. Not that it mattered, but someday it might. The day they find him it might.

He’s not good enough with nanites yet to be able to construct a suit out of them and Tony is too busy to bother for help but he’s got some notes to work with and is starting to familiarize himself with how they work.

Besides, what he needs most right now is something to do with his hands and this gets the job done. He’s gotta stay busy. Him and Tony decided that the satellite needs repositioned every hour or so but otherwise it doesn’t need to be actively monitored. If it picks up Peter’s tracker then F.R.I.D.A.Y. will notify Tony immediately.

Still, they make sure one of them is in the lab at all times. That usually means as soon as Harley gets home from class Tony leaves to catch a few hours of sleep. This leaves Harley with several long lonely hours with just him and his thoughts in the lab.

Bumpurr keeps him company. She’s in the lab often enough nowadays that they’ve had to bring in a litter box and Tony seems to be warming up to her. Harley’s come in a few times to find her curled up in his arms fast asleep while he scratches behind her ears absentmindedly and rambles about whatever is on his mind at the time. If he didn’t know better he’d say Tony’s getting attached.

~*~

He doesn’t hear the door open. He’s elbow-deep in the guts of his suit, occasionally digging a plastic spring out of his pocket to flick across the table for Bumpurr to chase to keep her from going after his wires. Peter bought the springs months ago and they’re one of her favorite toys and an absolute lifesaver for keeping her out of things she shouldn’t be in. Like electrical wires.

“I brought dinner if you’re hungry.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at Pepper’s voice at his side.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, turning and staring owlishly at her where she stands, distorted and blurred through his magnifying spectacles. He takes off the spectacles and rubs his bleary eyes with the backs of his wrists. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Pepper says, smiling slightly like she’s not sorry at all. “Dinner?”

Harley glances at the tray in her hands (orange slices, salmon, asparagus) and then away as his stomach clenches. His appetite has been off the past few days. He thinks it might have something to do with all the caffeine but he’s not willing to sacrifice the extra hours it grants him. He’s started ordering energy drinks in bulk to keep the mini-fridge well stocked.

“I’m good,” he tells her, replacing his spectacles and turning back to his work.

He’s got under ten minutes before he needs to reposition the satellite and he can finish re-wiring before then if he stays focused. They’ve mapped out the range they get with the satellite and broken it down into quadrants and then further into sections. They’re still in the first quadrant but they’re close to completing it. If they stay on schedule they’ll be onto Quadrant Two by the end of the day.

“Thanks though,” he adds belatedly when Pepper continues to stand there holding her tray.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. says you haven’t eaten today,” she says.

Harley pauses. Is that true? He’s had coffee and a few energy drinks and some caffeine tablets to keep him going. He vaguely remembers a bag of chips but that might have been yesterday. His brain is too fuzzy to remember exactly.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. It’s not a lie. He doesn’t _feel_ hungry. He knows he probably needs to eat but then again the human body can go weeks without food. He’s staying hydrated (coffee and energy drinks count, right?) so what’s the big deal if he goes without food for a few hours longer than normal? He’ll eat when his body tells him he needs to.

“Harley, you need to eat,” Pepper says, stubbornly standing there with her stupid fancy tray. The orange slices are arranged in a flower and there’s an artful drizzle of olive oil beside the asparagus spears.

Just looking at it makes him want to flip the whole thing to the floor.

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” he says, fighting to keep his tone even. “I feel fine.”

“Well you look like shit,” Pepper snaps, her calm and soothing demeanor vanishing like smoke and sending him reeling.

He goggles at her over the tops of his spectacles. “What’s your problem?”

It’s the wrong thing to ask.

Pepper’s knuckles turn white where she grips the tray and her cheeks flush the slightest bit pink as she grits her teeth and says, “My problem is that despite being intellectuals, perhaps geniuses, you and Tony don’t have a scrap of self-preservation to share between the two of you. My _problem_ is that as soon as there’s a crisis, you men all seem to forget what the human body needs to function at optimal capacity. You’re working with half your brain because you’re too mule-headed to _eat_ and _sleep._ Now eat your _fucking_ dinner.”

She slams the tray onto the workbench beside his suit with enough force to scatter the orange slices. One bounces to the floor where Bumpurr pounces on it only to immediately leap away with a look of disgust on her face.

Pepper looks him in the eye, face pinched as she says in a low tone, “If your plate isn’t clean by the time I come back for it then I’ll drag you out of this lab kicking and screaming if I have to, so help me.” She turns to leave, her heels clicking with finality across the polished floor.

The door opens.

“You’re not my mother.”

He doesn’t shout it. The words don’t have any bite to them. His tone is plain. The words are _fact._ Pepper isn’t his mother and he doesn’t need her to take care of him. He doesn’t need her nagging or her meals or meddling or her threats. She’s _not_ his ma.

Pepper freezes halfway out the door and slowly turns to look him in the eyes. Her expression is blank, the barely controlled fury from before gone as quickly as it came.

“I know,” she says flatly.

“Then leave me alone. I’m fine.”

He thinks he imagines it when her chin wobbles but then her stoic expression crumples and her eyes fill with tears before she nods sharply and sweeps out the door and out of sight.

Guilt hits him like a brick to the face. What did he do that for? He’s never seen anyone hurt Pepper before. Oh, he’s so dead. When Tony finds out he made Pepper cry he’s going to kill him. He should go after her. He should apologize. But for what? It’s the truth. She’s not his ma and he doesn’t need her coddling him. He doesn’t.

He looks down at the ruined meal on the table in front of him. It’s not take-out. She made this. She cooked it and then went the extra mile to plate it and make it pretty and she did it for him.

And he threw it in her face and made her cry.

He looks back at the door. He should go after her. He should—

His timer goes off, alerting him that the satellite needs to be moved in five minutes.

He sighs and slumps onto a stool as Bumpurr leaps onto the workbench and zeros in on the salmon in a heartbeat.

“I’m a real bastard, aren’t I?” he asks her quietly.

She glances at him then pounces on the salmon, tears off a chunk, and scurries away to devour it far out of his reach. He sighs again and picks up a spear of asparagus with his fingers and munches on it. His stomach gurgles as it lands in his gut and all at once, he realizes he’s ravenous. He stares sullenly at the meal for a long minute before dejectedly picking up the fork.

He’s such an asshole.

~*~

He’s listening to that song again when May walks into the lab. It’s the one that Miles introduced him to days ago and makes him think of Peter. Peter’s the sunflower but Harley’s the one left in the dust. He shouldn’t be surprised. Peter’s always burned so bright he was bound to fly faster and farther than he could ever hope to keep up with. This just isn’t the way he thought he’d be left behind.

May leans her shoulder against the wall just inside the door and closes her eyes, chin tipped up as the last few stanzas of the song play.

When the last note fades, he shuts it off before it can repeat.

“You here to rip me a new one?” he asks.

“Yes and no,” she says, straightening and strolling casually over to him. She peers curiously at his suit where it’s strewn about over the workbench. “That was a nice song.”

“It’s Miles’s favorite,” he says.

May’s smart. She may not be a science genius like Peter but she’s _people_ smart. He doesn’t need to explain to her what the song means to him. She just nods and moves on.

“You’re scaring Pepper.”

“I— What?” It’s not what he expected her to say. He upset Pepper. He hurt Pepper. He disrespected Pepper. He pissed Pepper off. All of these are things he did and expects to be raked over the coals for. He’d almost welcome the punishment. But scaring her? Pepper afraid? Not possible.

“She’s worried about you. You know you need to eat. You’re not stupid, Harley. If it was Peter you wouldn’t tolerate how you’ve been behaving for a second. So what gives?” She crosses her arms and stares him down expectantly.

Harley looks away. Did Pepper not tell her what he said to her? How he treated her?

“I dunno. I just… didn’t feel hungry.”

“Why not?” May asks. “Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he says. Not in the traditional way at least. He feels queasy whenever he thinks about how long Peter’s been gone (nine days, three hours, and 46 minutes) or when he dwells too long on where he could be. If he’s okay. If he’s alive.

No. He _knows_ he’s alive. He talks to both MJ and Ned regularly and they’re always quick to assure him that they’re still getting vibrations from their bracelets. It’s sporadic and they never get an immediate response, but they’ve been getting _something._ It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to keep him going. To keep aflame the little speck of hope sheltered behind his ribs.

Peter’s out there. He’s alive. He just needs to find him.

It shouldn’t be this _hard._

“Harley,” May says from right in front of him.

He blinks up at her. When did she move? He must have zoned out. It’s been happening more and more frequently lately. He’s not sure if it’s from the lack of sleep or the not eating but he almost likes it. Every moment of every day has been harder than the one before it so it’s almost nice to blink and realize that several minutes have passed without him having to be present for them. It scares part of him, but mostly he feels numb to it.

“Tony and Pepper aren’t the most touchy-feely people, but you are, aren’t you?” May phrases it as a question but it’s not. Not really.

Harley shrugs and looks away. He thinks most people would be surprised by how tactile Tony is on a normal day but he pulls away during times of crisis. Harley can’t even remember the last conversation they had that wasn’t about the satellite or the search for Peter. And Pepper… Well, Harley always got the feeling her hugs were more gifts bestowed upon the recipient rather than something she herself desired. Which is fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some people just aren’t huggers.

He is though. It wasn’t a problem before because Peter’s a hugger too.

“Do you want a hug?” May asks, a wry smile curling her lips. “I’m finding I have a surplus of undelivered hugs nowadays. They’ve been building up since August and if I don’t start using them up I’ll do something embarrassing like hug a stranger on the train or my boss or something.” She holds out her arms and wiggles her fingers enticingly and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

He all but falls forward into her waiting arms and she catches him, grip strong but gentle as she folds around him and tucks his head against her chest, holding him close.

It’s a lot, being this close to another person. He can feel her heart beating under her skin, smell her lavender-scented lotion, feel the warmth of her seeping into him. His skin feels too tight but he doesn’t shrug her off. He needs this. He _needs_ it. He can’t remember the last time he was held. Was it Peter? No… Tony, he thinks. The day after Peter vanished. Was that only eight days ago? It feels like so much longer. A lifetime. Like it happened to someone else.

“Relax sweetie. I’ve got you.”

He hadn’t realized how tense he was until May starts to hum and slowly stroke her thumb down his spine. His muscles don’t want to relax but as he focuses on May’s touch he feels them slowly drain of tension. She starts at the base of his neck and strokes down, slow and smooth until she reaches the middle of his back. Then she starts at the top again. He counts the seconds it takes for her to complete each stroke.

1… 2… 3… 4…

She’s consistent to the point he wonders if she’s counting too.

He pulls back from May’s embrace and wipes at his face but his eyes are dry. He hasn’t cried. He’s starting to wonder if he still can. He’s so numb.

“I made her cry,” he blurts without looking May in the face. “It’s not that I’m scaring her. I hurt her. I’ve never seen her cry before.” He’s never seen her lose her temper like that before either. She’s gotta be just as stressed as him and Tony and he threw her concern back in her face and then spat on it for good measure.

“Then you should apologize,” May says.

“How?”

“Start with ‘I’m sorry I was a massive piss-baby’ and see where it goes from there.”

He almost laughs but it catches in his throat.

May sits down on the stool next to him and adjusts her glasses, squinting at the holoscreen displaying Quadrant 2 Section 12. “Explain what I’m looking at and then I’ll hold down the fort while you go grovel and beg forgiveness.”

It doesn’t take long to catch May up on what to watch for and then to explain how to move the satellite to the next section if he isn’t back before the timer goes off in 29 minutes.

He takes the empty tray with him as he steps into the elevator.

He doesn’t find Pepper in the living room or the kitchen where he makes a pit stop to load the dishwasher. He doesn’t find her in her bedroom, only Tony, passed out and drooling into a pillow.

He quietly closes the door and meanders down the hall. There’s his room at the end next to a bathroom and across from Peter’s as well as an empty guest room and the room Rhodey stays in when he’s in the city. There’s a study that Pepper reads in sometimes but a glance reveals that aside from the towering bookshelves and a few high-backed armchairs, it’s empty.

Where is she?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. where’s Pepper?”

“In her office. Would you like me to confirm whether she has the availability to see you?”

He winces. “Ouch. Next time just tell me I fucked up.”

“You fucked up,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells him, matter-of-fact.

“I said next time,” he grumbles under his breath.

The criticism stings. If the robot can put two and two together and come to the conclusion that he’s the asshole then he guesses that means he’s the asshole. Not that he hadn’t already figured that out himself, but it has a little more bite to it coming from a rational A.I.

“Yeah, go ahead and ask.”

25 seconds later she says, “She’ll see you now.”

Is that how long it took Pepper to decide to see him or did F.R.I.D.A.Y. just want to make him sweat? It could honestly go either way. It’s no secret that F.R.I.D.A.Y. adores Pepper as much as her robot brain can manage. And he hurt her.

He shuffles back into the elevator.

At Pepper’s secretary’s desk, he stands awkwardly while she types at lightning speed.

“She’ll see you now,” the secretary says without looking up.

He pushes open her office door open and steps through, letting it fall shut behind him with a soft click.

Pepper sits behind her desk, the top clear of any clutter. Her hands are folded primly atop it, her face carefully poised and bland. The office is huge and barren. He kind of hates it. It’s impersonal in its sleek modernity and he has trouble placing the warm and caring Pepper that he knows in such a cold professional environment. He knows that she has a reputation for being shrewd and no-nonsense in her role for the company but he didn’t expect it to extend to her space.

“What can I help you with?” Virginia Potts-Stark, CEO of Stark Industries asks.

Harley stares at her. Who is this? This isn’t the Pepper Potts that sucks at Wii bowling and trades witty barbs with Tony and gives him and Peter forehead kisses.

_You’re not my mother._

He did this. He made her feel like she has to hide behind her professional persona to be around him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he lets them hang awkwardly at his sides, too afraid to put them in his pockets in case that incites further offense.

Pepper continues to watch him. Not hostile but not warm and friendly either.

He continues. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t… I was being an ass on purpose and I’m real sorry.”

Some of Pepper’s frostiness melts away, her shoulders lose some of their rigidity, her mouth relaxes from the taunt line it had been stretched into. “I forgive you,” she says. “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. I know you’re hurting.”

“That’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

Pepper’s mouth tightens. “I agree. I wasn’t excusing your actions and I won’t tolerate that kind of treatment again.”

“I— Of course not,” Harley says, thrown by the rapid return of her hard edges. “I won’t. I… You were right. I haven’t been taking care of myself and—,”

“Why not?” Pepper interrupts.

Harley frowns. “Why not what?”

“Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself? There’s no reason to be pushing yourself this hard just to sit around in front of a screen.”

He flinches, chin dropping to his chest at the reminder of how little they’ve been able to _do._ He feels like a bratty kid being reprimanded in the principal’s office.

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “I just… I feel like if I’m not doing something then I’m letting him down. If I don’t spend every moment I have trying to find him then I’m not trying hard enough.”

“How does that translate to not eating and sleeping?” Pepper asks, unwilling to bend an inch. “You can eat in the lab. Sleep is essential for brain function. Isn’t it better to take a few hours to sleep if that means you have a better chance of coming up with more ideas? Sleep deprivation and starving yourself doesn’t serve anyone, least of all Peter.”

She’s right. He _knows_ she’s right.

“I can’t sleep,” he admits. “As soon as I lay down I just… My thoughts race and I feel like I’m going to miss our chance to find him. If I’m not in the lab watching for a sign of him then we’ll miss it and he’ll be lost forever. So I figured, if I’m not sleeping anyway then I might as well be in the lab.”

Pepper hums noncommittally and taps a polished nail against the top of her desk. “And not eating?”

Harley bites his lip. “Ah, it kind of goes hand-in-hand I guess. My appetite has been off and on. Mostly off. I’ve been feeling kinda sick but I think it’s because of how much caffeine I’ve been taking.”

Pepper’s gaze sharpens. “Taking? As in pills.”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve got,” he takes his bottle of caffeine supplements out of his pocket, “200mg pills and I’ve been drinking coffee and energy drinks too. They help me feel focused.”

Pepper looks blown away and then furious. Oh shit.

“You know you can overdose on caffeine, yes?”

“Uhh, sorta I guess. I didn’t think I was taking that much.”

“Nausea is a symptom of an overdose,” she snaps. “Ask me how I know.”

“How do you— Tony, right?”

“Yes. Tony. Give me those.” She holds out an expectant hand.

He pulls them towards his chest. “But I need—,”

“What you _need_ is to sleep and eat, Harley,” she snaps. “You wouldn’t need this much help staying awake if you would take care of yourself.”

“I can’t sleep! Aren’t you listening? I _can’t.”_

Pepper sighs and props up her elbows to rub at her temples. “Fine. Keep the pills but don’t take more than two a day. And no more than two caffeinated drinks a day if you’re going to keep taking the supplements. I’m being _generous._ And I don’t want you going more than five hours without food or 30 without sleep.” She blinks and seems to close herself off before she says, “Of course, I’m not your parent so you’re under no obligation except as a resident of this household. If you’d prefer to—,”

“Pepper.” He takes half a step forward. “I’ll do it. I… You may not be my mom but you’re family and I love you. I’m so sorry I hurt you. You deserve so much better.”

She seems like she’s holding her breath as she sits in still silence. When she finally moves it’s to slouch in her chair like a marionette whose strings have been cut and she sniffs loudly.

“I love you too,” she tells him, voice quivering with suppressed emotion. When she looks up her eyes are red-rimmed but dry and she looks familiar once again. “I’m sorry I lost my temper and yelled.”

“Don’t apologize. I was being a dick.” He takes another step forward and holds out his arms. “Permission to hug it out?”

She glares at him as she pushes away from her desk but doesn’t stand. “You don’t need permission for that. Get over here.”

Harley complies without hesitation, nearly jogging across the room as relief courses through him. He fucked up but not as bad as he could have.

“Yes ma’am,” he says. He wraps his arms around her thin shoulders and she loops her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest.

“Can it, Keener. You’re still on thin ice.”

He matches her strength as she clings to him in a way that’s new and strange. He doesn’t think he’s ever _given_ her a hug before. He’s received plenty of hugs from her but he thinks this is the first time he’s been the comforter to her comfortee. He holds her a little tighter and rests his cheek atop her head, breathing in the nameless light perfumey fragrance that is quintessential to Pepper.

“I really am sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t mean it.”

She pulls in a deep breath and seems to re-center herself before she sits back and offers him a wobbly smile.

“I know.” She takes his head gently in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead then smooths her thumbs over his cheeks. Something of a sad smile curls her lips as she takes in the bags under his eyes and then she says, “I knew you didn’t when you said it but it still hurt especially since—,” she cuts herself off abruptly and then shakes her head and drops her hands to her lap. “I forgive you. I know you’re under a lot of—,”

“Especially since what?” Harley asks, concern rising within him. “Are you okay? Is something—,”

“I’m fine,” Pepper assures him in that firm but gentle way she has. The way that dissuades contradiction without inciting offense. “I’m perfectly healthy. Nothing is wrong. It’s just… Life goes on. Whether we’re ready for it to or not.”

He doesn’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean and he’s alarmed despite the way Pepper is trying to soothe him. She must catch this showing through his expression because she softens and takes his hand in hers.

“I promise everything is fine. Something new popped up but it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own while you and Tony focus on finding Peter. It can wait.”

“Okay,” Harley says reluctantly. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what’s going on but… okay, I guess.”

“You’ve got enough on your plate.” She squeezes his hand and covers it with her free hand. “I can take care of this one thing.”

“I know. That doesn’t mean you should have to do it yourself though.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief that only serves to confuse him more.

If it’s not him and it’s not Tony or Peter then… May? Maybe Happy or Rhodey? He’s pretty sure Pepper has other friends but he’s only met them in passing a few times and while they seemed like nice enough women he didn’t get the vibe that Pepper was especially close with them.

Happy can’t keep secrets from Tony and doesn’t handle stress well and it’s a toss-up whether the U.S. government or Tony take up more of Rhodey’s time, so it’s probably May. If it’s May, maybe he can wheedle whatever it is out of her…

Yeah, no that’ll never work. It’ll only end with him getting humiliated somehow. May is the same lethal combination of stubborn and loyal that she instilled in Peter only hers comes with a side dish of taking petty delight in watching those who try to manipulate her crash and burn. Best not to risk it.

“Now,” Pepper says, adopting her brisk down-to-business tone while still holding onto the warmth Harley is used to from her, “how long has it been since you slept?”

“Uhh…” He honestly doesn’t remember. He looks at Pepper for help.

She sighs. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“38 hours and 16 minutes, Miss Potts,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. supplies with a note of disapproval in her tone.

He winces.

Pepper raises her eyebrows at him and he can easily read the question in her eyes. This is the first test of the promise he just made. 30 hours is the cut-off and he’s well over it. To keep his promise he’ll have to go to bed. Only…

“I don’t think I can,” he admits softly. “That’s not an excuse,” he adds quickly as her eyebrows hike higher. “I really don’t think I can.”

He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling that crawls up his throat like a million tiny ants or the way his chest feels like it’s going to burst open or the way his legs demand that he run back to the lab and check that nothing’s changed.

“Meet me in the living room in ten minutes,” Pepper says. “I have a few things to finish up and then I can take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“I— What? You don’t have to—,”

“I’m aware. You have ten minutes. Change into something comfortable and let May know she’ll need to stick around in the lab for another couple of hours until Tony gets up.”

Harley nods obediently and then pauses halfway to the door. “You got to Tony first, didn’t you? That’s why he’s sleeping.”

Pepper smirks. “Technically, Rhodey did but I’m the one who called him. I’m accustomed to getting my way,” she says and then casts a pointed look towards the door.

He almost smiles. “I love you. You’re my role model.”

Pepper laughs. It’s short and inelegant like he surprised it out of her. “Go,” she tells him. “The clock is ticking.”

He steps out of her office, nods at the secretary, and hurries to the lab to talk to May. Luckily, she doesn’t mind hanging out in the lab a while longer. She’s engrossed in some bakery game on her phone anyway so he doesn’t feel too guilty as he leaves her to it and heads upstairs.

In Peter’s bedroom, he kicks off his shoes and changes into sweatpants. He pauses. Something comfortable… He eyes Peter’s dresser and only hesitates a moment before he pulls open a drawer at random. It only opens a couple of inches before it gets stuck but he can see what’s in it.

_Jackpot._

The whole thing is stuffed to overflowing with sweaters and hoodies. He has to push them down to get the drawer open all the way. Nothing is folded, they’re crammed in pell-mell exactly how one would expect to find a horde of stolen sweaters. He grabs a sleeve at random and pulls. The pile froths and churns until the chosen sweater pulls free from the mass and he can hold it up and get a good look at it.

It’s _tiny,_ one of MJ’s if the Lizard People podcast logo is anything to go off of—he’s a little surprised she didn’t straight up kill Peter for nicking this one. There’s no way it’s gonna fit him. He’d be surprised if it even fits Peter. He’s slim but not that slim. His shoulders…

He tosses the sweater aside and yanks on a different one… and yanks… and yanks… until finally, the hoodie comes free in a spray of fabric as several others fall to the floor. The one in his hands is Ned-sized with a faded hand-drawn Deathstar over the breast. It’s well-worn and Harley has a vague memory of seeing Peter in it last winter, back before they started talking to each other. He was positively swimming in it. At the time he’d been infuriated at how fucking adorable he was.

He sets it aside as his heart pangs. He wants him _home._ He’s tired of this. He’s tired of hurting and being scared. He just wants him back.

He stoops down and scoops up the sweaters that fell out onto the floor, pausing as he finds one of his own. It’s the one he let Peter borrow at the beginning of the summer to hide his suit after he twisted his ankle. God, that was forever ago. The hoodie is a little more broke in now and there’s a grease stain on the sleeve that wasn’t there before. He brings it to his nose and breathes in deeply, feeling like an idiot when all he gets is a nose-full of fabric softener.

Still… He tugs it on and tries not to feel too much as he forces the drawer shut and pads out to the living room.

Pepper is somehow already waiting for him, curled up in the corner of the couch in yoga pants, a loose drapey sweater, and thick fuzzy socks. She pats the cushion beside her and grabs a thick blanket from the armrest.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks after he sits and she settles the blanket over their laps, making sure to cover their feet.

“Umm I dunno,” he mumbles. He has a feeling that the purpose of this activity isn’t for him to stay up and watch something with her.

“Is there something you like to re-watch? A movie from your childhood or—,”

“That 70’s Show,” he answers. “That’s kind of our thing—me, my ma, and Abbie. How we’d normally end the day and unwind.”

“Is that… Would you want to watch that with me?”

He hates himself for putting that insecurity in her eyes. For making her think for a second that he doesn’t love her, maybe not as a mom, but certainly as family.

“Of course. I mean… I don’t know that it’s up your alley. There’s a lot of stupid humor and weed jokes and casual sexism but—,”

Pepper silences him with a look. “You forget who I married,” she tells him blandly. “Also, I’ve seen That 70’s Show before.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Pepper says. The TV lights up and they wait patiently as F.R.I.D.A.Y. navigates Netflix for them. It’s funny that Pepper doesn’t pick up the remote and do it herself, but he supposes she’s used to having an A.I. run the place.

“What season?” she asks.

“Uh, I haven’t watched season four in a while.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn’t need any further instruction and starts playing it from the top.

“Oh, I remember this one,” Pepper murmurs as she settles further into the couch. She glances at Harley sitting upright and frowns. “Get comfortable. If you’re still awake at the end of the second episode I’ll be forced to take extreme measures.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, earning an eye roll.

He does as he’s told and tucks a throw pillow under his head, laying down with his head on the empty cushion and his long legs curled almost to his chest. This only lasts a few seconds before Pepper takes his ankles and guides his feet to her lap.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling the blanket over his shoulder, careful not to tug it off her.

“Shh,” she says, eyes intent on the screen. He’s not sure if she notices when she cradles her hands loosely around his feet over the top of the blanket but for some reason, he’s hit with a pang of homesickness.

It doesn’t take long for his chilled toes to warm and then finally, he sleeps.

~*~

“You look like crap.”

Harley hears the voice coming from beside him but with how distracted he is by the sprawled slow-walking group in front of him that he’s been silently cursing ever since he got stuck behind them, it takes him several seconds to realize she’s talking to him.

He blinks over at the owner of the voice and finds a tall, willowy blonde a few years older than him watching him with raised eyebrows. She looks vaguely familiar but he doesn’t recognize her from any of his classes. Then again, he’s been pretty out of it.

“Thanks,” he grunts and glares again at the group in front of them. How is it possible for three people to take up an entire hallway? This is why people become supervillains. Humanity isn’t worth saving.

“How’re you holding up?” the girl asks.

He shoots her an incredulous look, but she misses it, too busy frowning in disdain at the people in front of them. Why is this girl he doesn’t know talking to him like she knows what’s going on? Like they’re already friends?

“What’re you talking about?” he asks, letting a touch of annoyance seep into his tone. He hasn’t had enough sleep for this. He’s rapidly approaching that pesky 30-hour limit. He’ll have to snag a few hours of sleep when he gets back to the tower… if he ever makes it back. He glares again at the group in front of them.

The girl presses her lips together. “New school. New city. New level of expectation. And your support system has been out sick for two weeks.”

He flinches. Eleven days, one hour, and 19 minutes since Peter disappeared. “How do you know about that?” He’s sure now that she’s not in any of his classes. He’d have remembered someone this pushy.

The girl shoots him a flat look. “Everyone knows. The whole school is talking about it. No one buys that he’s just sick. Not with the way you’re falling apart.”

His lungs seize. He can’t do _anything_ right, can he? It’s only a matter of time before he blows Peter’s secret identity wide open. Everyone will know and it’ll be all his fault. _All_ his fault.

“Is he… He’s not dying is he?” the girl asks quietly.

His stomach pangs.

“No,” he says, maybe too quickly. He would know. He’d feel it or something. Besides, he just got texts from Ned and MJ like half an hour ago that their bracelets vibrated again. He’s alive out there, wherever he is. They just have to find him.

“Good.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. If you want those pointers then I’m happy to help out. I know how hard the first year here can be coming from a small town.”

Wait, what? He frowns at her and racks his brain. She’s talking like they’ve had a previous conversation. Something about pointers, but he doesn’t remember—

It clicks.

“I remember you! From orientation.” He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and forces his sluggish brain into motion. “It’s uh… Fuck. Tiffany, right?”

She pulls a face. “Trinity. Sorry, I should have re-introduced myself. I’m an idiot.”

“No, no I should have remembered,” Harley assures her quickly. “You were super nice and Tony was such an ass.”

She wrinkles her nose. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“We were impressed you didn’t murder him.”

She grins and then bites her lower lip, shaking her head. “I had some ideas.”

He snorts. “So pointers, huh? On mechanical engineering?”

“On whatever.” She flutters her hand. “I’m a certified tutor in most of the basic subjects.”

“I didn’t realize that’s something you had to certify for.”

She turns away with a shrug. “It’s not, but the option was there and I figured it’d help people feel more comfortable coming to me so…” She trails off with another shrug.

“You’re a huge nerd, aren’t you?”

She shoots him a look. “Okay, rule one of city life, you can’t go around classifying people as nerds or jocks or drama kids or whatever. People are too diverse to be—,”

“Sounds like something a nerd would say.”

She flattens her expression. “You met me when I was leading the freshman orientation, a volunteer position I should mention, and now I’m offering to tutor you apropos of nothing.”

He nods wisely. “And you just used the word ‘apropos’ in a real, out-loud conversation. You’re right. I never should have questioned your nerdliness.”

She knocks him lightly with her elbow and a grin. “Whatever. Do you want my help or not, Mr. Class Clown?”

“Class clown?” he echoes. “Please. I’m the handsome, mysterious guy that sits in the back of the room and all the girls crush on.”

She laughs. “Oh my mistake, Mystery Boy.”

“That’s _Mr._ Mystery Boy to you.”

“Well if we’re using titles then I’m Queen Nerd or, if you prefer, Her Royal Nerdliness.”

Harley snorts. “Alright, highness. I’m finished with classes for the day and my chemistry guy is unavailable so if you’re free we can—,”

“Quick, an opening!” Trinity grabs him by the elbow and hauls him through the gap that opened up to the left of the slow-moving group in front of them. They breeze by them and find themselves with nothing but open hallway before them, leaving them free to walk at whatever pace they desire. “Ahhh so much better. Legs this long weren’t meant to walk that slow. Yeah, I’m free. You wanna go to the library? Or there’s this coffee shop around the corner that has the best sugar cookies.”

“Cuppa Cryptonite? The owner is totally in love with Peter. Always gives him free drinks.”

“Martha’s like 70!”

“I said what I said.”

Trinity snorts as they start heading down the stairs. “I didn’t take you for the type to get jealous of old ladies.”

“I’m _not_ but you haven’t seen the way she fawns over him. She’s totally got ulterior motives.”

“So is that a no to—,”

“Oh no, we’re going. You’re right about the cookies.”

On the way to the coffee shop, he texts Tony to let him know he’ll be home late. His Chemistry grade has been floundering without Peter around. He’ll take any help he can get.

When Martha sees him walk through the door she beams and immediately moves to the blender.

“Peter’s home sick today,” he tells her quickly before she can get started making the smoothie that Peter likes.

She turns to him, concerned. “Again?” she asks. “You said he was sick Monday too. He’s not avoiding me, is he?”

“Of course not. He’s just got uh, mono. Still contagious.”

He doesn’t know anything about mono except that it takes a long time to get over. He hopes Martha isn’t secretly a mono expert about to call him on his bullshit. Trinity shoots him a sharp glance but thankfully doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, poor thing. You tell him to stop by as soon as he’s feeling up to it and I’ll make him something special.”

“I’ll do that.”

Trinity doesn’t say anything as Martha prepares their lattes. He worries she’s going to push him for the truth, but they settle at a table with their drinks and she pulls out her laptop without a word about Harley’s lies. He takes a leaf out of her book and elects to ignore the awkwardness of the situation.

After a fortifying sip of his drink, he sets aside the mug to make room for his textbook.

“Okay. Explain this shit to me.”

They spend an hour diligently going over his chemistry assignment and reviewing the past few chapters in the book until Trinity figures out where he got turned around. By the end of the hour, a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. There’s still a massive fucking boulder up there, but it feels like a good chunk of it has been sheared off and suddenly existing isn’t as much of a soul-sucking burden.

“Seriously, thank you so much,” he says for the third time as he packs his bag. “I dunno what I would’ve done if I’d failed.”

Trinity rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have failed. You were only stuck on a few niche things. You’ve got the fundamentals down and that’s what’s important.”

Harley scoffs and downs the last of his cold latte with a grimace. “You sound like Peter.”

“Maybe you should listen then.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Same time tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” he says and then blinks as his brain catches up with his mouth.

What? No. Why would he agree to that? He needs to be looking for Peter, not going on _study dates._ One was okay because he needed help and it was for Peter’s future benefit as much as his own, but he’s good now. He got the homework done and he’ll be able to do his usual chapter summary notes for Peter no problem. He doesn’t _need_ to meet up again tomorrow.

His regret must be showing on his face because Trinity raises a delicate eyebrow.

“I…” He trails off.

On the other hand, he did have a good time today. It was… nice to get outside of his head for a little while. It was good to be able to talk to someone without being treated like he’s made of glass and liable to shatter at a moment’s notice or at the mere mention of Peter. He brought up Peter several times and not once did the air turn stagnant and uncomfortable. Not once did Trinity look at him with pity or act like he was bringing up the dead. Maybe…

“Listen,” Trinity says, adopting a business-like tone, “I don’t know what’s going on with you guys and this isn’t some bogus ploy to butt in and dig up information or something. I just… It seems like you could use a friend and…” She shrugs. “You’re not horrible.”

“Why do you care?”

He hopes it doesn’t come across as mean. He’s curious. That’s all. Other students have approached him and tried to make conversation and invite him out with their friends, but they never looked at him like a normal person. They didn’t look like they expected him to agree at all. It was like they were summoning up the courage to ask so they could go back to their real friends and say they did.

Trinity pulls a face and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Not to make this weird, but me and my brother watch your YouTube channel.”

“Oh,” Harley says. Is that disappointment he’s feeling? Another fan then. What’s he supposed to say? “Thank you?”

“Ugh.” Trinity wrinkles her nose and ducks her head, fiddling with a pen. “I made it weird. Sorry. Anyway, the point is, he didn’t _get_ me before. Like, he didn’t get why I’d move so far away from home and go to this tiny college and mess around with machines. Me leaving for college kind of drove a wedge between us for a long time.”

She clicks the pen absentmindedly. “Then he started watching you guys mess around and have fun with inventing and now he wants to be just like you.” She rolls her eyes, her mouth twisted into a familiar smile that’s half-fond and half-annoyed. “I’ve been trying to get him interested in this stuff for years, but whatever. I guess all I’m trying to say is that even though you didn’t know it or mean to, you kind of fixed my relationship with my brother so if I can pay it forward and help you out while Peter’s… whatever’s going on with him, then I’d like to. And like I said, you’re not horrible so…” She shrugs.

Huh.

“I have one question and it’s deal or no deal kind of thing.”

“Umm okay.” She tucks her hair behind her ears again.

“Who’s your favorite? Me or Peter?”

She relaxes and snorts. “Peter obviously. He’s like,” she wiggles spirit fingers, “literal sunshine.”

“Yeah. He is,” Harley says, smiling softly.

“Ah-ha!” she suddenly exclaims, pointing a finger in his face.

“Uhh—,”

“I fucking did it. I have to write this down in my goal journal.”

“Your goal journal?” he parrots.

“Queen Nerd, remember?” she says, already digging through her backpack. She pulls out a spiral topped notebook with a sparkly pink cover that says _‘I’ve got daddy issues up to my eyeballs so I know what I’m talking about’_ in black permanent marker. Weird.

“What exactly is it that you did?” he asks hesitantly.

Trinity scribbles something in her notebook and then smirks at him across the table, a challenge lighting her pale eyes. “Got you to smile. Betcha I can do it again if you show up tomorrow.”

~*~

After hanging out with Trinity, he realizes two things: One, he needed it. It was good for him to get out of the tower and drop all of the expectations he’s been juggling since Peter disappeared. He gets back to the tower with a clear head and more energy than he’s had in days, and it’s not from the latte. The second thing is that he didn’t post any Iron Interns’ content last Saturday and this Saturday is rapidly approaching and he has nothing. He’s tempted to say fuck ‘em and keep ghosting their subscribers, but now that he’s paying attention he notices that there are more reporters on the front steps of the tower than there has been in months. Almost as many as when him and Peter were kidnapped.

He doesn’t like that at all. The last thing they need right now is for the media to latch on to Peter’s absence from school and blow it up into some major news story. There are already too many ways for people to connect Peter Parker to Spider-Man and it wouldn’t be a stretch to connect Peter’s sudden illness with Spider-Man’s abrupt disappearance as well and start connecting dots.

But he doesn’t have anything he can post. They don’t have a backlog of videos and he can’t think of a single interaction here at the tower that he could edit up the security footage of and post like they did for the Mario Kart video. Everything they’ve been doing lately has either involved Spider-Man, Miles, school, or making out.

In the end, he settles for posting an old selfie of the two of them to Instagram. In the caption, he apologizes for disappearing without warning and explains that Peter’s sick and they’ll be back to posting as soon as he’s up for it. He keeps it as vague as he can without inciting panic and after reading it 14 times he hits ‘Post’ before he can think himself in any more circles. That done, he heads down to the lab to check on Tony’s progress before heading to bed for a few hours.

The door to the lab slides open and he spots Tony hunched over the usual workbench in front of the holoscreen displaying what should be Quadrant Three Section 12 if his math is right. He’s got a spider suit in front of him, but not of the usual variety. It’s one that he pulled out of storage after the Rhino incident when that rebar stabbed through Peter’s suit like it was nothing. Apparently, it was supposed to be Peter’s Avengers’ uniform but then he turned Tony down and it’s been put away ever since. He’s been calling it the Iron Spider.

“Hey Tony, what’s…” He trails off as he notices something against the wall that wasn’t there this morning. “Is that a futon?”

Tony hums, distracted. “Pepper had it delivered. Threatened bodily harm if we don’t use it. So… do that.”

He stares at it. It’s up against the same wall his and Peter’s mural is hanging from. It’s a nice one. Nothing like the ones he’s seen at Walmart. The mattress is thick and plush and the frame is sleek polished rosewood. His eyelids grow heavy just looking at it. He glances at Tony who still hasn’t looked up from the Iron Spider suit and then shrugs and walks over to sit on the futon. There’s a thick blanket draped over the back and small rectangular throw pillows sitting on either end.

Well, she said to use it.

He kicks off his shoes and wiggles out of his backpack, leaving the pile of his belongings on the floor. Then he drapes the blanket over himself and tucks a pillow under his head. From here the mural hovers above him, photos fluttering against the wall as the furnace blows warm air into the lab. He turns onto his side and can just barely see the holoscreen. It’s at a weird angle but is visible enough that he’ll be able to tell if something starts flashing and of course, F.R.I.D.A.Y. will be sure to alert them.

He relaxes. For the first time in two weeks, his muscles seem to unclench.

“Pep said something about an eye mask,” Tony tells him, still not looking away from whatever upgrade he’s making.

He looks around and finds one on the opposite armrest. It’s _garish._ Pink and frilly with a tiny gold crown and embroidered long-lashed eyelids that give the impression of a sleeping princess. He smiles softly and slips it around his head. He’ll have to pay her back somehow. Not with money, but in some way that she’ll appreciate. He can’t think of anything good enough right now, his exhausted overworked brain is already starting to drift, but he figures he can start with making sure she never has to enforce her restrictions.

He hikes the blanket up around his shoulders and to the tune of Tony’s tools clinking softly across the room and the buzz of the fluorescent lights, he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday! I'm typing with one hand bc my cat is demanding snuggles (actually she wants breakfast but it's manifesting as snuggles for now). I've been informed that even the angsty chapters grant serotonin so Serotonin Wednesdays are here to stay even though Harley's going through it (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who comments!!! It's so uplifting to get feedback! Take care out there! Wash your hands. Drink, eat, take your meds. Practice the self-care you wish Harley would lmao


	8. You're paying attention to him, right?

~ **Peter** ~

He tries not to fidget but it’s impossible. Everything here is so _weird._ Gripping his mug in both hands, he takes in the room for the hundredth time.

It’s warmly decorated and far more stylish than he’s used to seeing it. It smells wrong. It’s sort of appley with a hint of spice that might be from his tea. It’s not a bad smell, just wrong. He can’t get over it. There isn’t even a hint of Aunt May’s incense that clings so stubbornly to everything back home.

On the wall, there’s a framed newspaper clipping showcasing an award-winning photograph of Spider-Man with ‘Peter B. Parker’ in the photographer’s byline, and beside it is a childish crayon drawing of a stick-figure family: an orange-haired figure holding the hand of a purple little girl while a blue and red figure holds the little girl’s other hand and an all-red figure gives the red and blue figure bunny ears. He’s not sure who the all-red figure is meant to be or who the initials D.P. scribbled in the corner belong to.

There are pictures on the wall too—a smattering of candids showcasing MJ and a little red-haired girl and a framed professional photo of a graying 40-something brown-haired man with one arm around MJ’s waist and an infant in the crook of the other.

In the frame next to it, the same man is smiling next to Aunt May who is far older than he has ever known her to be. _Uncomfortably_ old. She’s Aunt May. She’s supposed to be immutable. Timeless. His one and only constant. She’s not allowed to get old and di—

_Don’t think about that._

The couch is unfamiliar but the shape of the armchair by the window sparks fuzzy memories of Uncle Ben’s lap and fantasy novels in yellow lamplight. It’s been reupholstered, now a denim blue to match the couch and contrast the oatmeal carpet. The only other touch of his childhood is the old brass menorah that followed him from his parent’s house and now sits brightly polished upon a high shelf next to what look like awards for acting.

Nothing else is familiar.

Specifically, this universe’s MJ is not familiar. _His_ MJ is introverted and has a border-line acerbic sense of humor. a sharp wit, and a penchant for brutal honesty. She’s caring but he wouldn’t call her kind. She’s not afraid to speak her mind but he wouldn’t say she’s outgoing. He _certainly_ wouldn’t call her chatty.

Peter B.’s MJ is _nice._ She’s so freaking nice it’s weird.

“Of course Pete told me all about his inter-dimensional spider-kids,” she says with a bemused smile for Other Miles and Gwen who are beside him on the couch sitting as stiff and upright as he is. “He loves you guys. You brought his old fire back.”

“We did?” Other Miles asks, holding onto his mug for dear life while beside him Gwen remains oddly silent, her gaze flitting everywhere except the gracious host holding them captive, trapped by social convention. Just like Perry the Platypus.

He lifts his mug to take a sip of his tea and is again reminded that he already finished it even though it tasted like nothing. He couldn’t tell if it was just bad tea or if he’s too stressed to taste things. Regardless, he’s gonna have to pee so bad later.

“Night and day difference,” MJ says with feeling. Then she turns to Peter. “You’re new though, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly and brings his mug to his lips as he fights the urge to bounce his knee.

MJ’s nose crinkles as she smiles, laugh lines framing bright eyes. “You want a refill there, Tiger?”

Heat blooms in his cheeks. “No, no I’m good. When uh… When’d you say the babysitter would be here?”

MJ scoffs and settles back into Uncle Ben’s chair, drawing her socked-feet up and leaning back against the armrest like she’s done it a million-trillion times. She glances at the faintly fuzzing baby monitor on the end table and says with fondness, “It’s impossible to know with him. Soon, I’d guess. He’s been… out of sorts with Pete being where he is right now.”

Peter frowns. “Aren’t babysitters supposed to be… I dunno. Reliable?”

MJ laughs, bright and unhindered. “Maybe, but we like to keep it in the family. For obvious reasons.” She smirks at where his suit is poking out of the end of his sleeve and he reflexively tugs his borrowed sweater over it. Her grin widens. “Besides, Wade loves Mayday. He’d do literally anything to keep her safe.”

His heart skips a beat. Mayday. The picture of old old _old_ Aunt May. Peter B.’s family living in this house. The lack of incense.

_Don’t think about it._

“Who’s Wade?” he asks. He realizes his fingers are drumming rapidly against the side of his mug and stills them. She said family, but Wade isn’t a name he’s familiar with. It must be someone on her side.

“Peter’s best friend. He’s a little out there, but he’s family.

“What about Ned?” he blurts before he can stop himself. He can’t imagine having a best friend in anyone other than Ned. He touches his bracelet absently. They’re still vibrating nonstop but he’s almost gotten used to it. He touches the sensor anyway, just in case they’re still putting out a signal.

MJ gets a look on her face that he Doesn’t Like. Not one bit. But before he can swerve the conversation, he hears a squeak through the baby monitor. Not a squeak like a child waking up or a bed-frame shifting but a squeak that he’s far more familiar with.

The squeak of a window opening.

He’s on his feet in an instant, moving towards the hall, empty mug abandoned on the carpet. Unfortunately, Miles and Gwen have the same reflexes and they all collide in a tangle of limbs.

“Don’t you dare wake her up, Wade,” MJ calls out. To them, she says, “It’s okay. He does this.”

“Does _what,_ exactly?” Miles asks, stumbling as Gwen shoves him off of her. “Breaking and entering?”

MJ smiles and doesn’t correct him.

Through the baby monitor a rough voice whispers, “Babysitting is no fun when my charge is unconscious.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Get out here!”

A door down the hall opens and Peter sheepishly picks his mug up off the floor. He nearly drops it again when he straightens and finds a hulk of a man covered head to toe in red leather filling the doorway. His Spidey sense twinges weakly as he takes in the guns holstered on either thigh and the twin swords poking up over either shoulder.

“How many times do I have to tell you to use the door?” MJ says, but she doesn’t look mad or alarmed or any of the things Peter feels she should be feeling right now.

“At least one more,” the man in red says cheerily. “This is a fresh brain that hasn’t heard it before. Grew it brand new just the other day!”

“Deadpool?!” Gwen exclaims. “Peter’s best friend is _Deadpool?!”_

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” Miles groans.

Wade (Deadpool?) turns his masked face towards them and breaks out in a delighted grin that’s somehow visible through the fabric. “Mary Jane Parker! You didn’t tell me we had company! I would’ve put on my cocktail dress.”

“I told you Pete called his spider friends.”

“Oh, you meant people!”

“Wait.” Peter breaks into their inane back and forth, his brain stuck on one detail. “Your name is Mary Jane? Not Michelle Jones?”

She looks at him oddly and says, “The one and only.”

Deadpool makes a sound in the back of his throat like he disagrees.

“In this universe,” Mary Jane corrects, rolling her eyes.

“Oh,” Peter says and a heap of tension drains from his shoulders.

So this isn’t some freaky sideways universe where everything about his MJ was taken and turned on its head. She’s just… Not MJ. MJ hasn’t been erased. She’s probably out there in this world somewhere dominating debates and ruthlessly stamping out oppression before retiring to a cozy apartment with a mug of tea and a book, blissfully separate from any and all superhero drama.

He drops onto the couch and relaxes into it for the first time since Mary Jane caught them trying to sneak into the shed and strong-armed them into the house by force of hospitality.

“So who’s Michelle?” Mary Jane asks with a sly grin.

“Ooo!” Deadpool claps his hands and bounces up and down on his toes. He flaps his hands at Gwen and Miles and says, “Sit down, girls. We’ll gossip!” He crosses his wrists under his chin and fans out his fingers before skipping into the room and dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Mary Jane, facing Peter expectantly.

Confused and tense, Miles and Gwen retake their seats on the couch with Peter.

“I— She’s my frie— Did you just reference Josie and the Pussycats?”

Deadpool wiggles like an excited puppy and looks up at Mary Jane. “Can we keep him?”

“We already have one,” Mary Jane says like a patient mother to a toddler.

“But he’s perfect! If you ignore his extra dimension, he’s just like our Petey Pie only without the five ‘o clock shadow and perpetually grumpy face from being beaten down by the tragedies inherent in living!”

_Don’t look at the picture of May. Don’t look at the picture of May. Don’t look— Dammit._

Mary Jane follows his glance and her face softens into That Look again.

He jolts off the couch before she can say anything. “Y’know, I think I will take that refill after all. You don’t— I’ll get it. Deadpoo— W-Wade? Uh, you want? I can—,”

“Aw look at little baby Peter avoid confronting his emotions just like our big baby Peter,” Deadpool coos. “My shrink was right. There _is_ comfort in consistency.”

“I don’t— I’m an adult!”

Wade claps his hands to his cheeks. “He’s so adorable! Are you sure we can’t keep him?”

“Quite antagonizing him, Wade. We’re not leaving Pete in Rikers.”

“Even if he deserves it?” Deadpool asks, tone turning sickly sweet in a way that makes the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand on end.

“He did what he felt was right,” Mary Jane says but she looks tired.

“He always does what he thinks is right. Even when it’s _stupid.”_

Mary Jane doesn’t have an argument for that one.

“That’s why we should start fresh,” Deadpool says, tipping his head significantly towards Peter. “We can train this one to not be such a self-sacrificing dickwad and Petey Pie can stay in prison just like he wanted. It’s a win-win!”

Mary Jane puts her hand on his shoulder and says gently. “You know he didn’t want to go. He’s trusting us to clear his name and we’re going to. You can count on it.”

“Question,” Other Miles says, raising his hand. “How exactly are we going to do that?”

Mary Jane grins. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Gracias a Dios,” Miles sighs, slumping in relief. “Our plan sucked.”

~*~

Step one of Mary Janes’s illustrious plan involves waiting until morning to instigate said plan. Other Miles nods in approval, seeming even more confident in trusting her superior planning skills at her evident attention to detail—something their plan was woefully lacking. Meanwhile, he and Gwen resign themselves to spending the remaining hours of the night in discomfort—Peter for obvious reasons and Gwen… probably something to do with the way her cheeks flush pink every time she makes eye contact with Mary Jane.

Deadpool is surprisingly helpful as Mary Jane goes over her plan. He helps refine it, lending knowledge from his experience skulking, stalking, and spying. He has a growing concern about Peter B.’s taste in friends but who is he to judge? Maybe it’s for show. Maybe Deadpool pretends to be more off-the-wall than he actually is.

They manage to catch a few hours of sleep once the planning is finished so when the sun rises, they’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to kick some lizard butt.

“Chameleon,” Mary Jane corrects. “Dr. Connors is doing really well and is back to teaching at ESU.”

“What?”

“Oh honey,” Deadpool says while the others trade knowing looks. “Your universe hasn’t even popped off yet, has it? Don’t worry, Spider-Man always gets the most colorful rogue gallery. You’ll get there.”

“I don’t think I want to know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t,” they all say in tandem.

Step two of Mary Janes’s illustrious plan is for all of them to sit at the table and eat the pancakes Deadpool made while she makes a run to the thrift store with their sizes. Peter doesn’t say so but they taste like paper. Even the authentic maple syrup Deadpool is so proud of tastes like a damp book to him. Judging by the way Miles and Gwen hork down their plates, he thinks it must just be him. He doesn’t want to incur Deadpool’s wrath by insulting his “famous” pancakes so he forces them down and leaves the table feeling just as hungry as when he sat down.

Mayday wakes up at the tail-end of the meal and squeals in delight when Deadpool is the one to fetch her from her crib. He holds her on his hip while he loads the dishwasher and they both babble incessantly, her red hair a wild tangle of curls atop her head, his apron immaculate.

“—and that’s why you never accept a free slushie from an Italian,” Deadpool informs her gravely as she yanks on his mask with one hand and decimates a dry pancake in the other. “No matter what your daddy says about never turning down free food, there are secret terms and conditions. Always.”

Mayday’s brown eyes don’t stray in their fixation on Deadpool as she gabs nonsense and drools on her nightgown.

Peter finds himself oddly enraptured. He hasn’t met this universe’s Peter Parker but he has now met the guy’s best friend, daughter, and wife. Last night, he wasn’t sure what he thought about an alternate him being besties with someone like Deadpool, but seeing him with Mary Jane and now Mayday eases that discomfort. He’s still uh, _different,_ but Peter’s life is hardly normal. Maybe it’s a better fit than it seems on the surface.

Mary Jane returns not much later and hands each of the Spider-people a sack of clothes to change into before taking Mayday from Deadpool to get her dressed for the day as well.

“Fashion montage!” Deadpool squees.

Ten minutes later, they’re all dressed and waiting in the living room. Gwen and Miles look nice in their matching black suit and black dress while Peter feels like a tool in his fedora.

“Sorry,” Mary Jane says as he fiddles with it in the reflection in the TV. “It was the only hat they had with a wide enough brim to hide your face while sticking to the dress code.”

She skipped the black-tie outfit and looks instead like a reporter with a camera around her neck and her world-conquering boots on her feet.

“That wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it is the movies,” Deadpool says to Mayday, her hair now brushed smooth and pinned back from her face with a pretty flower barrette. “Where was the bumpin’ soundtrack, huh? No one struck a single pose. Hashtag lazy writing.”

“Wade,” Mary Jane says.

“What? If Petey Pie doesn’t want me saying ‘hashtag’ out loud then maybe he should be here to stop me.”

“Not that. No field trips today, okay?”

Deadpool slouches dramatically. “Aw, there go my plans to culture my little prodigy.”

“Once again,” Mary Jane says on a sigh, “taco stands don’t count as culture.”

Deadpool gasps, hand to his throat. “Take that back!”

“And whatever plan you have to follow us, scrap it now,” Mary Jane continues. She lifts a stern eyebrow. “You’re babysitting May. _Only_ May.”

Petulantly, he says, “I can multitask.”

“Not today.” She kisses Mayday’s soft pudgy baby cheek and then Wade’s masked one. “We’ll do a family outing once this is all over. Promise.”

He perks up. “Coney Island?”

“Peter hates Coney Island.”

“Exactly.”

She grins. “We’ll see.” She faces the spider crew with her hands on her hips. “You’re all clear on the plan? No unauthorized deviations unless it’s an emergency. I have plenty of experience with Pete’s ‘good ideas’ and I can promise you, it’s not as good as you think.”

“Everybody knows spider folk share one collective brain cell,” Deadpool says, “and I’m pretty sure one of you traded it for a dirty water dog years ago.”

“A whole hot dog for one measly cell?” Peter quips. “Sounds like a bargain.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He hikes Mayday higher on his hip and cocks his head and says in a cheery voice, “If my Mary Jane comes back with a single scratch I’ll be double-dutching with your entrails by noon. Get me?”

“Behave,” Mary Jane tells him.

“I am! Did you see me take out a gun or a grenade or a blade or a—,”

“Wade,” Mary Jane says sharply. More gently she says, “I’ll be fine. See you in a couple of hours, okay?”

“If I don’t, I’m coming in guns blazing.”

“You won’t have to. We’re doing this without the body count.”

As they troop out onto the porch and down the sidewalk, Deadpool fills the door frame waving Mayday’s arm in farewell. “Bye-bye, boys! Have fun storming the castle!” Under his breath, he continues the quote, “Think it’ll work? It’ll take a miracle.”

~*~

The theater Mary Jane tracked Chameleon to yesterday while they were still getting their bearings isn’t one he’s familiar with. He’s pretty sure there’s a bakery on this corner in his universe. When he says so, Mary Jane explains that the bakery burned down during one of Green Goblin’s rampages and the theater took its place.

He’s starting to get a little concerned for his future. Is he really going to have to fight all of the weirdo villains everyone keeps bringing up? Maybe he should start taking notes. Maybe he needs to take training more seriously. Him and Harley have been making use of the paintball room but it’s been more for fun and easing Harley’s weird hang-up on differentiating between him as Peter and him as Spider-Man. Maybe he can talk Nat into giving him another round of one-on-one lessons. They haven’t done that in a long while.

As instructed, across the street from the theater, he and Gwen go through the motions of acting like old friends who ran into each other on the street while Mary Jane approaches the building tailed by an invisible Miles, casual, like she’s supposed to be there.

This is the part of her plan that he likes least. Why is Mary Jane, the only one without powers, putting herself in the most danger? They don’t have communicators, only their enhanced hearing to listen for signs of a ruckus. He tried to broach the subject with her back at the house but Deadpool started making throat slicing motions behind her back and Gwen elbowed him hard in the ribs. Mary Jane herself leveled such a frosty stare at him that he held his tongue for the rest of the planning session.

Now those concerns are back to the forefront of his mind. She insisted that it’s a recon mission only. They’re here to gather evidence and, being an actual reporter as well as an on-again-off-again actress, she’s the best equipped to do so. There was also something about not trusting them to not engage if they run across Chameleon. Something about hot-headed, impulsive Spider-people blah blah.

He kind of tuned in and out a little bit. It’s hard to concentrate when his stomach feels like it’s trying to digest itself. He’s starting to think the food here doesn’t provide any actual nourishment for him which is… problematic… considering his metabolism.

“I haven’t seen you since… what was it? Psych 101, right?” Gwen asks, weirdly chipper. It seems she’s adopted an entirely new personality for their charade.

“Uh yeah. That sounds right,” he says, concentrating more on straining his hearing for any sign of trouble from the theater than on their phony conversation.

Gwen shoots him an annoyed frown.

He shrugs. Mary Jane had a point when she said she’s the only qualified actress out of all of them.

A muffled crash sounds from within the theater and they both snap to attention.

“Go?” he asks.

“Go.”

They sprint across the street, narrowly dodging bumpers and pissing off a whole bunch of high-strung New Yorkers. His fedora whips off his head and he doesn’t even try to save it. Good riddance.

They burst through the front doors of the theater and dart past a crowd of people in furry cat leotards and down a hall, following the crashing sounds to one of the offices. The door is shut but with one good kick from Gwen, it flies off its hinges and hits the opposite wall with a bang. Peter leaps through the doorway but before his feet even hit the ground his Spidey sense flares in warning and a furry foot kicks him right back out into the hall. He crashes into the wall.

_Oof!_

Plaster rains over his shoulders and his chest burns as he pulls himself out of the wall and staggers back into the room. For a split-second, he thinks Gwen is locked in hand-to-hand with one of the _Cats!_ actors... an incredibly tall and buff actor.

Then he realizes what he’s looking at is actually a man in a grizzly bear costume.

How hard did he hit that wall?

“There’s no need to get handsy, Mr. Markham,” Gwen says as she barely avoids Grizzly’s claws.

Grizzly roars and smashes through a desk as he charges at her but she manages to web up to the ceiling and avoids getting pinched in the corner with a graceful flip, her dress fluttering around her knees. She catches sight of Peter frozen in the doorway and snaps, “A little help? We’ve got to get him into an open area or we’re going to get torn to shreds.”

“Right.” How the hell are they supposed to do that? And where are Mary Jane and Miles? He thought they’d find them fighting off Chameleon but he doesn’t see anyone else in this tiny office besides them.

First things first.

“Here boy!” He makes kisses noises and claps his hands.

Grizzly turns towards him, fury contorting his features.

“That’s it! C’mere buddy! I’ve got a special treat for a special boy!”

Grizzly lets out a bellow of rage and charges at him like a bull. Oh dear.

Luckily, the actors clue in and clear out of the way as he sprints for the side door that they scoped out before Mary Jane and Miles went in. Behind him, a body smashes into the wall and footsteps thunder after him accompanied by another roar that’s much too close for comfort.

He crashes through the side door into the alley and doesn’t waste a second webbing himself up and onto the low roof next door.

Well, it should’ve been out of reach. He doesn’t count on Grizzly tearing out the door after him, picking up an entire dumpster, and winging it at him. He _certainly_ doesn’t count on his moronic reflexes deciding to try _catching it_ rather than dodging.

His head smacks painfully into the brick wall and, arms straining, he manages to keep the dumpster from crushing him. It crashes to the pavement below and he drops from the wall to perch on its rim. His dress shoes slip, but he keeps his balance.

“What’s your story, man?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. Oof that’s gonna hurt for a while. “I don’t mean to pry but is this your fursona? If you ask me to call you Mr. Snuggles I’m gonna have to draw the line.”

“Hold still so I can crush you!”

Over Grizzly’s shoulder, Gwen crawls out of the theater and up the wall. He discretely shakes his head at her as he says to Grizzly, “Hmm, soft pass? D’you think you could like, not crush me? Maybe? I just have some questions and then I’ll get out of your fur.”

“What?” Grizzly asks, his thick furry brow wrinkled in confusion. “I… You’re supposed to fight me! Fight me, coward!”

“I don’t know. I’m not feelin’ it.”

“Who _are_ you?”

Peter puffs out his chest and deepens his voice. “That’s confidential.”

His leg glitches and he almost falls into the dumpster.

“What’re you, some kinda science experiment?” Grizzly asks warily.

“That’s rich coming from the guy in the bear costume,” Gwen says, making herself known.

Grizzly spins around, backing up towards the mouth of the alley so he’s no longer flanked on either side. He bares his teeth at her and snarls in the back of his throat.

“Woah, c’mon. No taking potshots at each others’ fursonas, okay? We’re all in the same circus if you ask me.” Grizzly and Gwen are both staring at him. He doesn’t know Gwen well enough to be able to tell what she’s thinking but he’s picking up some serious _‘What the fuck are you doing?’_ vibes. “The real question is, where did our friends go? Would you be able to help us out, Grizz? D’you mind if I call you Grizz? Mr. Bear comes across a little too fetishy for my comfort.”

“Uhh…” Grizzly stares at him.

“Red-haired lady? Invisible guy? Actually, now that I think about it, you probably didn’t—,”

“The scary lady went backstage. I don’t know about no invisible guy.”

“Awesome, thanks!” He hops off the dumpster and ignores how Grizzly sets his feet and lifts his hands in a ready to rumble kind of stance.

“Hold on, hold on!” Gwen interjects, sounding frustrated. “We can’t just let him go.”

“Why n—,”

“Why should we trust you?” she demands of Grizzly. “You’re a bad guy!”

“Ouch. Harsh. He hasn’t done anything really bad yet, right Grizz? There’s always time to turn over a new leaf.”

“Hasn’t done— He threw a dumpster at you!”

“I caught it! No harm done. It’s an easy mistake to make when you think you’re being attacked. Right, Grizz?”

Grizzly hesitates and then nods. “Uh, yeah. I’m… uh. I’m sorry about that. I’m used to the other guy. His punches really hurt, you know?”

“I forgive you. I’m just glad you weren’t hurting our friend.”

Grizzly’s shoulders hunch and his gaze drops to his toes.

Peter hesitates. “You didn’t hurt our friend. Right, buddy?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Grizzly says, emphatic. “But usually Dmitri ain’t so nice and Martin’s tryin’ real hard to prove himself.”

“And these guys… Martin and Dmitri. They have our friend?”

“…yeah.”

“Fuck!” Gwen exclaims, scrambling for the door. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?!” Peter squawks hurrying after her.

She zips through the doorway, kicking off her flats without slowing when they make her slide on the worn tile.

Peter is on her heels, but skids to a stop to say to Grizzly, “I meant it. What I said about it never being too late to turn over a new leaf. You seem like a decent guy.”

He rushes after Gwen, leaving Grizzly confused and alone in the alley.

Gwen bursts through the door leading backstage with Peter close behind. So close that when she comes to an abrupt stop, he slams into her back and they both crash to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Gwen exclaims, almost sounding more in awe than angry. Almost.

“You stopped! Why did you st—,”

He looks up and suddenly, he gets it.

“Took you guys long enough,” Mary Jane says blandly from where she’s sitting on a crate with her camera in hand.

“Where have you been?” Miles demands. “I had to take out those guys myself!”

There’s a very pale very bald man webbed to the wall, calmly surveying them while a dude in a chimpanzee suit is unconscious, face down, and webbed to the floor for good measure.

“You can blame this idiot,” Gwen says,. She slaps away his offered hand and gets to her feet on her own. “Who stops in the middle of a fight to make friends with the criminal?”

“Hey!”

“You made friends with Grizzly?” Mary Jane asks, sounding impressed.

Peter shrugs. “Sort of maybe? We’ll see, I guess. He stopped attacking us and told us where to find you so… maybe.”

She hums thoughtfully as she loops her camera strap around her neck. “Well, at least this wasn’t a complete failure.”

“What d’you mean? We got… These are the bad guys right?” Peter says, gesturing at the webbed up parties. The bald guy sneers at him.

“Yeah but we’ve got no evidence. Nothing that’ll definitively clear Spidey’s name. Catching the bad guys might not be enough.” She says it plainly but the worry lines creasing her forehead are deep. She blows out a breath and gets to her feet. “I guess we should call the police and—,”

“They’re on their way.”

Peter jumps and whirls around to find Grizzly stooping to fit through the doorway behind him. He casts a wary glance around the room, his eyes lingering on the bald guy before he squares his shoulders and steps fully into the light.

“Hey Grizz,” Peter greets cheerfully. “You uh, hear somethin’ we don’t or…?”

“I called them,” he says. His voice is rough and his brows are furrowed. “New leaf, yeah?”

“What are you—?”

“I’ll tell them everything.” He nods toward Mary Jane. “Spider-Man’s name will be cleared.” He takes a deep breath and pulls back his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

Peter puts his hand on Grizzly’s shoulder (well, no—it’s his elbow; his shoulder is waaaayyyyy up there) and says, “I’m proud of you, buddy. You’re doing the right thing.”

Grizzly nods, looking grim. “I don’t… Prison is… It’s hard to choose to go back.”

“I’d visit if I could but I—,” His entire arm fizzles out and phases through Grizzly’s elbow. He holds it against his chest as his atoms settle and his arm becomes solid again. “I gotta get home soon.”

“Going home will fix…” He jerks his chin at Peter’s arm.

“Supposed to.”

“It will,” Other Miles says definitively.

“And what about…” Grizz gestures at Peter’s face.

“Nah, that’s stuck like that.” He _really_ wishes he’d been born into a cool comic book universe. Damn you extra dimension!

Grizzly pulls a face and grunts in what seems like sympathy.

“I’ll visit if you’re looking for volunteers,” Mary Jane says.

Grizzly looks her up and down and then a small smirk quirks his lips. “I suppose if scary lady is on my side it won’t be too bad.”

“Scary lady?” Mary Jane asks with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve done anything particularly scary today.”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

Her grin blossoms into a delighted smile. “I have a reputation?”

“When the red-head reporter starts to snoop, things go wrong very quickly.”

“I’m going to have to invest in some wigs,” she says, not looking the least bit put out by this news.

“This is all very heart-warming,” the bald guy on the wall says softly, “but you can’t trust him. You’re making a huge—,”

Gwen shoots a splatter of webbing across his mouth as sirens begin to wail in the distance. “Time to go.” To Grizzly, she says, “Umm, good luck. And thanks. Sorry about… punching you and stuff.”

Peter lingers behind as Miles, Gwen, and Mary Jane leave.

He scrounges for words but all he can come up with is, “No matter how this plays out, I’m rooting for you, Grizz.”

“My name’s Max but… I like Grizz.”

Peter smiles. “Grizz it is. Good luck.”

He meets up with the others in the alley and they slip onto the street the block behind the theater and merge into the crowd.

“You really think we can trust him?” Gwen asks after the sirens behind them cut out.

“Trust isn’t the word I’d use,” Peter says. “It’s more like…” He struggles for the right words.

“A leap of faith?” Miles asks.

“Yeah! Exactly. It’s not always going to pan out but when it does, it makes all the times it doesn’t worth it. You just gotta give people the chance to do the right thing. A lot of the time they let you down, but sometimes they’ll surprise you.”

Mary Jane throws her arm around his shoulders and her hip bumps into his. “I think this calls for celebratory milkshakes. What d’you think, Tiger?”

~*~

In a matter of hours, Peter B. is released from Rikers. Before he even makes it through the front door of Aunt May’s house, he’s met with a long hug from Mary Jane and Mayday, cheers from Gwen and Miles, and a gun to the face from Deadpool.

Everyone goes tense and quiet except Mary Jane who rolls her eyes and removes Mayday from Peter B.’s leg.

Peter B. sighs, his lined face seeming tired but unconcerned about the gun barrel in front of his nose. “Wade, I’m sorry. I had to—,”

“Bullshit.”

 _“I did,”_ he snaps. “I don’t need New York to like me but my job is a lot easier when they don’t think I’m going to pull a gun and rob them blind. I had to do _something.”_

“Well I’m pissed about it,” Deadpool snaps, not lowering the gun. “You could have—,”

Peter B. rolls his eyes and brings a grease-soaked bag out from inside his tattered and worn jacket. “I brought apology tacos.”

“Well, why didn’t you lead with that, baby boy?” Deadpool chirps brightly. He stows away his gun and bounds across the room to snag the plastic sack. He peers inside. “Chimichangas?”

“Tacos,” Peter B. says flatly.

Deadpool pouts. “But you know I love chimichangas the mostest.”

“I know you love _saying_ chimichangas but you prefer tacos.”

Deadpool stares at him for a prolonged moment and then throws his arms around him in a crushing grip. “If you ever do that again I’ll blow your brains out.”

_What the hell?_

Peter B. pats his back. “I missed you too, Wade.” He jumps and Deadpool darts away giggling.

“Do you have to grope my ass in front of my wife?” he complains half-heartedly.

“We have an agreement. We’re just waiting for you to get on board.”

“In front of my kids then.”

“Ohhh your _kids,_ huh? You’re picking up quite a collection. I like the new one even though he’s kind of fugly. Reminds me of you back before you got old and droopy.”

_Rude._

Peter B. seems to notice him for the first time as Deadpool takes the sack of tacos to the couch and starts throwing them at people.

He gives a little wave and tries not to shift under his scrutiny. “Uh, hey.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbles. His head falls back and he says to the ceiling, “Why? Why does every universe conscript teenagers to fight adults?”

“Here he goes,” Other Miles mutters to Gwen.

Peter B. turns to them. “Where did he come from?”

He sounds like Mr. Stark when he discovers the latest animal he brought in off the street.

“She did it,” Other Miles says, pointing at Gwen. He nearly gets hit in the face with a projectile taco but catches it at the last second.

Gwen glares at him. “It was an accident. I promised he could see this through before I send him home.”

“How do you accidentally pull someone into a different— Actually, never mind. Doesn’t matter. Show’s over. You can ship him home now.”

He doesn’t look at him as he says it. In fact, he seems to be avoiding looking at him at all.

“Actually,” Other Miles says hesitantly before Peter can protest, “there’s another thing.”

Everyone looks at him.

“His universe has a Miles.” They wait for the rest. “With powers like mine.”

Everyone continues to look at him.

“Aaaand?” Gwen asks. “What’s your point?”

“How did he get them?” Other Miles exclaims like it’s obvious. “Are we going to get sucked into this Peter’s universe to destroy another supercollider? Are Fisk and Doc Ock going to try and mess with realities again? Like… How’d he get his powers?”

Everyone turns to look at Peter.

“Uhh.” He catches a taco before it can bean him in the eye. “I don’t know? I mean, he got bit by a spider in the subway but I don’t— We never figured out where it came from.”

He leaves out the fact that he never even looked. He’s just been _impaled._ And then school started. Give him a break!

“He got bit in the subway?” Other Miles asks, latching onto his stuttered words with palpable excitement. “That’s where I got bit too! What else? Was there a big machine thing in the subway? Did you fight Fisk and Green Goblin and Prowler? What about Tombstone or Doc Ock? Scorpion? I mean, you’re not… So everything isn’t the same but what if—,”

“None of that stuff happened,” Peter says quickly. He’s not going to think about Fisk. Nope nope!

Scorpion? Prowler? Tombstone?? Doc Ock??? What is with all of these bizarre villains? The Avengers don’t have enemies with such weird names, do they? What gives?

“None of it?” Other Miles asks, strangely putout.

Peter fiddles with the foil wrapper on his taco. “I mean, I don’t think so? Miles didn’t call me until like two weeks after he got bit and he never mentioned—,”

“Two weeks?” Miles echos looking more put out than ever. “Oh. This all happened in like two days.”

“Oof. Six villains in the first two days of having your powers? I’d have been a bloody smear on the pavement.”

Other Miles winces and Gwen and Peter B. glare at him. Oh right. Mile’s Peter Parker died in all of that. Oops.

“I mean,” he backtracks quickly, “you’re a lot older than I was when I first put on the mask and—,”

“I was 13. This was like five years ago.”

Peter’s brain screeches to a stop. “That’s… That’s about how old my Miles is. D’you… D’you think all of this is about to happen in my universe just on a different schedule?” He wants to puke thinking of Miles having to go up against what sound like six big-time villains, one of which was able to kill—

“I mean… Maybe?” Miles glances at Gwen who shrugs and then Peter B. who is horking down a taco at the speed of sound.

He notices everyone looking at him and his eyes widen. A string of lettuce is on his chin. “Hmm?”

Deadpool snickers and throws another taco at him. It smacks into his cheek and a spray of meat and lettuce bursts from between his lips and Deadpool erupts into a giggle fit.

“I think it’s worth looking into,” Mary Jane says, handing Peter B. a napkin wordlessly. “If all of that is about to go down in his universe then you guys can give him the cheat codes to put a stop to it. That’s worth the trip.” She pauses and then says with a quirk to her lips, “Even though what you’re really wanting is to meet your counterpart.”

Other Miles flushes slightly and crosses his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with that! I’m excited. I’ve never met another me before. I’ve got important life advice to pass on.”

“Sure, sure,” Mary Jane says with a knowing smile.

“So? Roadtrip?” Miles asks with a hopeful glance at Gwen.

Gwen sighs. “Yeah. Sure. I’m in.”

Peter B. hurls a waded up taco wrapper at Deadpool. It bounces off his shoulder harmlessly. “‘Pool? You coming?”

Deadpool gets his giggles under control and wipes an imaginary tear from the eye of his mask. “No can do. The author doesn’t want to have to keep track of that many characters so I have an urgent job to get to in Siberia.”

“What?” Other Miles mutters to Gwen.

“Just go with it,” Gwen tells him. “Don’t question the crazy.”

“Siberia?” Peter B. echos with a frown twisting his lips. “What’s so important in Siberia? You know we’re blowing up a big thing, right? That’s your favorite.”

“I knoooow,” Deadpool whines, throwing himself dramatically across the couch. “I’m already upset about this plot choice. Don’t to rub it in.”

“Alright,” Peter B. says and then adds thoughtfully, “Maybe I should stay too then. I think these three can handle it and I’d hate to over-tax the author.”

“Woah, character development? In my fanfic? It’s more likely than you—,”

 _“What_ is he _talking_ about?!” Other Miles exclaims.

“You learn to roll with it,” Mary Jane says. “Don’t think about it too much or you’ll start asking questions that make your brain hurt.”

“Or give you anxiety,” Peter B. adds. “Wait. We’re in a fanfic now? I thought it was a movie?”

“That was so 2018,” Deadpool says. “Get with the times, man.”

“What did I say about asking questions,” Mary Jane says, flicking Peter B.’s ear and startling the concerned frown from his lips. “Are you going with them?”

Peter B. turns a questioning look upon Gwen and Miles.

“You can stay,” Gwen tells him.

“Yeah,” Miles adds. “We got this.”

He still seems torn. He glances at Peter who shrugs.

“You just got home and uh, Grizz is expecting visitors.”

“Who?” He pauses thoughtfully. “Grizzly?”

“Yeah. He likes Grizz though.” He pauses. “Seems like he could use some help. Like… someone to talk to and stuff.”

Deadpool bursts into obnoxious peels of laughter.

Mary Jane shoves his shoulder. “Now you’re being mean. Go get us some drinks, would you?”

He leaves the room but his booming laughter can still be heard from the kitchen.

“I guess… I could sit this one out,” Peter B. says, looking confused and rattled by the concept. “I… trust you guys to take care of it.”

He only looks at Gwen and Other Miles when he says the last part which, rude, but whatever.

They all look at each other, silently wondering if it’s time to go.

He’s not ready yet.

“Can I… talk to you?” he asks Peter B. “Like, in private? Really fast?”

Peter B. sighs but doesn’t look surprised and nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

He follows Peter B. down the hall and into a small bedroom with sunny yellow walls with sloppily painted animals covering every square inch. He can make out what most of them are but some are… beyond his scope of understanding.

“Wade,” Peter B. says shortly, noticing his stare. “He likes to dabble in art and wanted to contribute to the nursery. MJ thinks they’re good for inspiring May’s imagination.”

Together they stare at a blobby creature that looks like a flailing duck being decapitated by a winged pig.

“Or something,” Peter B. mumbles.

“Right,” Peter says slowly. “That’s kind of what I wanted to… You being a father I mean.”

Oh God. Does he really want to have this conversation? _Guh._ But he needs to know and this is his one chance.

“Surprised a washed-up schmuck like me could hack it? Me too, kid.”

“No, no, no. That’s not what I—,”

“You’re not looking for the birds and bees talk, are you? Didn’t Aunt May—,”

“No! I mean, yes she did. _Very thoroughly._ That’s not— Well, I mean sort of actually. I just—,”

“Listen, kid,” Peter B. says, picking a string of lettuce from between his teeth before wiping it on his pants, “literally anyone else would be better to ask whatever it is you’re gearing up to. I’m not the great fountain of wisdom you think I—,”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him,” Peter blurts.

Peter B. pauses and considers him seriously for the first time so Peter plows ahead before he can brush him off again.

“I just want to know… if it’s possible to… to go all the way without—,”

“Christ, you’re young.”

“To _have sex,”_ Peter says, his face flushed with heat but determined to say what he needs to say. “Is it possible to have sex without hurting him? Or should I… not. I need to know.”

Peter B. sighs and scrubs a hand down his face before he sits on the edge of Mayday’s bed and pats beside him. Peter obediently sits facing him, crossing his legs and bouncing his knee.

“It is,” he says simply.

Peter lets out a relieved gust of air and tips his head back against the wall with a soft thud.

“It’s less complicated than you’re thinking,” he continues. “You care about this guy?”

He sits up and nods, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Yeah. A lot.”

“So when you’re with him you’re paying attention to him, right? To how he’s… reacting. You’d notice if he was suddenly uncomfortable or in pain.”

“Maybe,” Peter says, his worries flooding back. Is that all he has to offer? That if he hurts Harley, he’ll notice? That’s not anything!

“I wasn’t asking, kid. I’m telling you. If you care about this guy, you’ll notice the instant he starts feeling uncomfortable and you’ll stop whatever you’re doing and it’ll be fine. Trust me on this. Me and MJ have been together for… God, decades now and I’ve never hurt her during sex and we’ve had a lot of sex.”

“Ugh. Please stop. You’re giving me hives.”

Peter B. clicks his tongue. “So young.”

“Shut up.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I have more questions.”

“I gathered that much.” He sounds resigned. “Shoot.”

He jumps to his feet and paces the stretch of carpet in front of the bed, his anxious energy making his movements abrupt and jerky. “How do these alternate universes work? Are you old me? Or I guess, am I young you? Am I gonna meet someone named Mary Jane and get married and have a kid? Did you meet someone name Harley when you were younger? Am I going to get all cynical and grumpy too? Are you—?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Peter B. interrupts. He looks tired. “What are you actually wanting to know, kid?”

He licks his lips. “I… Aunt May.”

Peter B. drops his gaze to the floor and his eyes turn sad.

“How much longer do I have?” Peter asks through the knot in his chest. “Does she get… She gets a long life, right? She doesn’t— She doesn’t—,”

 _Fuck._ His throat swells shut and he can’t get the rest out. A tear escapes and he quickly swipes it away, hoping the other Peter doesn’t notice.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Peter B. says softly. “It doesn’t—,”

“I need to know!” he bursts.

“You _don’t,”_ Peter B. counters with equal force. “You’re going to lose her. She’s going to die. I don’t know when or how. That’s not how any of this works, but it’s going to happen and you need to accept it when it does. That’s life.”

“I can’t—,”

“You can and you will. What’s the alternative? You go first? You can’t do that to her. Even if immortality was an option, you know she wouldn’t choose that. Life is meant to be lived. Not preserved.”

He nods and wipes at more tears. It sounds like something Aunt May would say. Maybe she did. To this Peter.

“Okay, okay.” Peter B. stands up and awkwardly pats his shoulder. “Let’s… You go clean up and I’ll—,”

“Hold on.” Peter sniffs hard and scrubs his face. “I just—,” He pushes out a breath and sucks in a new one. “I’m—,”

“Why are you torturing yourself, kid?” he asks softly.

“I need to know,” he insists. “I just… I can’t go back still wondering. I… That night. Did you stop the robber?”

Peter B.’s lips pinch. “I stop a lot of robbers.”

“You know what I’m talking about. Uncle Ben. Was he—,”

“No,” Peter B. says shortly. “I didn’t stop the robber. Uncle Ben died. I became Spider-Man.”

Peter nods woodenly. “Is there… Are there universes where Peter Parker becomes Spider-Man and Ben Parker dies of old age?”

Peter B. hesitates and then says softly, “Don’t chase that rabbit, kiddo.”

That’s a no then.

He nods some more and fights back the tightness in his throat and the burning in his eyes. He sniffs and says, voice raw, “So it’s my fault. It was always my fault.”

“No, kiddo, no. Shit, come here.”

Warm arms wrap around him and hold him tight as the sobs overwhelm him, choking him. He fists his hands in the back of his jacket and lets go.

~ **Miles** ~

“Find anything?” Ganke asks, scrolling moodily through a Wikipedia article not at all related to the report he’s supposed to be writing or their investigation into Gwen Stacy’s disappearance.

Miles snorts.

He has only managed to uncover the obvious. Gwen Stacy is supposed to be a senior at Empire State University majoring in biochemistry. She’s smart. Like, _really_ smart. In an interview after winning first place at a national science fair, she mentions that she already has job offers from Oscorp, Alchemax, _and_ Stark Industries hinging on her graduation in the spring.

She disappeared well before her senior year was due to start.

He finds the missing persons report that Captain Stacy filed back in July, just two weeks after Oscorp started the drug trials, but when he tries to research the trials themselves everything he comes up with is vague and useless. The trials were big news in May and June but the only thing Oscorp confirmed about them is that the drug is meant to cure… something. They aren’t clear on what exactly. Some news sites say Lupus while others talk about ALS and still more bring up Parkinson’s. It’s confusing and frustrating and he’s ready to throw his computer out the window.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ganke says, spinning away from his laptop to face Miles where he’s sprawled across his bed on his stomach, knuckles digging into his cheek as he scowls at his laptop. “It’s fishy, right?”

Miles narrows his eyes at him over his laptop. “What’d you do?”

Ganke leans back and kicks his feet up onto Mile’s unoccupied desk chair. “Just a little light hacking. Sneaked into the servers of Lithonium Corp and did some digging.”

“Wait. What’s Lithonium Corp? And what do they have to do with anything?”

“Oh wow. You really _didn’t_ find anything, huh?” Ganke asks with a toothy shit-eating grin.

Miles rolls into a sitting position and shuts his laptop, hunching forward as he shoots Ganke an unimpressed look. “Come on, man. Just tell me.”

“Lithonium Corp is the company Oscorp hired to oversee the human trials to make sure they’re being safe and ethical. Like a checks and balances thing. Anyway, Lithonium’s cybersecurity is way less intense to get through than Oscrop’s so I took a little peek around their files.”

“And?” Miles asks, stiff with anticipation. “What’s the drug do? What happened to the people in the trials?”

“That’s the thing that’s suspicious. Nothing.”

Miles sits back. “What? What do you mean?”

“The drug doesn’t _do_ anything. There’s no negative side effects. No improvements. Nothing. Oscorp might as well have handed out thimbles of water for all the effect their miracle drug has.”

Miles slumps back against the wall and rubs a hand roughly over his hair. It’s getting to be fluffier than he likes but who has time for a visit to the barber nowadays?

“So… what then? There’s no connection between Gwen’s disappearance and Oscorp?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s suspicious, is it?” Ganke asks again. “What kind of drug gets through all the rigor of lab testing only to be completely invisible in the human body? There’s nothing, Miles. No temperature change. No change to antibodies, red blood cell count, white blood cells, nothing. It’s like they were never given anything at all. Man, I would _kill_ to see what Oscorp has to say about it.”

Mind whirling, Miles sits up straight. “What if you could?”

Ganke raises his eyebrows. “Don’t be crazy. Oscorp’s security is insane. Assuming I could even get in they’d track my trail in a heartbeat and be banging on our door.”

“But what if you had better equipment,” Miles says. “And maybe a state of the art A.I. to help cover your tracks?”

Ganke’s feet slip off Mile’s chair and hit the floor with a thud. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Let me talk to Pepper.”

~*~

“Research purposes,” Pepper deadpans. “Research that you need F.R.I.D.A.Y. for.”

“It’s for a good cause?” Miles says, phone pressed to his ear, crossing his fingers as he makes a face up at the ceiling. A door opens down the hall but the boy glances at Miles for only a second before slumping into the communal bathroom and then Miles is alone in the hallway once again.

Pepper’s answering silence sounds unswayed.

Quietly, Miles says, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Pepper sighs and there’s a beat before she says. “You’ll owe me.”

“Whatever you want,” Miles says without a hint of reservation. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“There’s a place in Bronx called B&B Deli. I want two of their killer sandwiches with extra mayo, peppers on the side.”

“Really?” Miles asks, making a face. “Bronx?”

Pepper sniffs lightly. “I wasn’t always the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Get one for yourself. You won’t regret it.”

~*~

“Woah,” Ganke says for the third time.

“Just tell me what you found,” Miles snaps.

He’s standing over Ganke’s shoulder but he has only been half paying attention to what he’s up to. It’s hard to focus when the office space Pepper set them up in has a large window overlooking some kind of research and development lab where they’re running tests on a small robot hovering a foot off the ground. He hasn’t been able to figure out what exactly the robot is supposed to do but judging by the waving arms and scowling faces, he’s guessing it’s not going well.

“It’s a cover-up,” Ganke says.

Miles turns fully away from the window. “What? How? For what?”

“Look at this,” Ganke says, tracing a finger down a list of descriptors.

Miles skims it.

Subject 1: 44 year old male. 5’11’’. 187 lbs. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.

Subject 2: 53 year old female. 5’4’’. 194 lbs. Lupus.

Subject 3: 72 year old female. 5’6’’. 143 lbs. Dementia.

Subject 4: 23 year old male. 6’2’’. 145 lbs. HIV.

The list goes on and on through 125 participants.

“Okay? What am I supposed to be seeing?” He doesn’t know enough about how scientific trials work to piece together what about this information set off a red flag. Is it the myriad of illnesses and diseases all of these people seem to have? How could one drug cure all of these?

“I don’t see a description matching Gwen, do you?”

Miles takes a closer look. She’s not on here. The closest it gets is a 20 year old female but it says she’s got Down syndrome and he’s pretty sure he would have found something about Gwen having Down’s if that was the case.

“What does that mean? Why do you think it’s a cover-up?”

“That’s not all.” Ganke changes the screen and pulls up an email.

Miles leans in closer.

“I couldn’t find the whole conversation,” Ganke says, “but I think this is enough for a pretty clear picture.”

Miles scrolls down to the first email in the string and finds another list of descriptors, but this one is much shorter, starting at Subject S1 and ending at S10. He skims the list and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Subject S8 is a 23 year old female with Cystic Fibrosis.

“Number 8…”

“Not on the official subject list,” Ganke confirms. “I already checked. None of these match Oscorp’s official list.”

Miles pulls up a chair and quickly reads through the rest of the email chain. The timestamps are all at weird times, outside normal office hours. Some even coming through in the wee hours of the morning. They start off talking about dosages and schedules with a clinical detachment and lists of numbers and measurements that he skims past.

Then the tone changes.

There’s an urgency to the last few emails. They reference ‘physical manifestations’ and the need to ‘go underground’ to avoid exposure as they continue ‘monitoring the subjects’. The last email stops him short.

_‘The rhino continues to be a hindrance and now we risk being exposed to the spider. We need to disappear or everything will be ruined.’_

“Wait. Are they talking about that guy in the mech suit that shish-kabobbed Spider-Man? He was looking for them in the subway tunnels!”

Ganke nods. “Did you see the timestamps?”

“Yeah they were all sent in the middle of the night.”

“No— Well, yes. But I mean the dates. They start talking about going underground in mid-July.”

A shock ripples down his spine to the tips of his toes. “When Gwen disappeared.”

“And that last one was sent in early August. Right before Rhino confronted Spidey.”

“What does that mean? Did Rhino know about the secret trials? Was he one of them? A-a subject?”

“I dunno. But you know what this is right? The front-facing trials were just… well, a front. To cover-up these secret trials.” He pokes a finger at the holoscreen. “These are the people Oscorp was actually testing. I don’t know what they gave the other 125 but these 10 are the ones who got the actual drug Oscorp developed and it _did something_ to them.”

Physical manifestations. Underground. Rhino.

“Gwen’s not the only one who’s missing, is she?”

Grim-faced, Ganke meets his eyes and all at once Miles is reminded that they’re 14-years old. What are they supposed to do about secret drug trials and missing people and a supervillain who might have been more of a vigilante who was locked away for trying to stop bad people from doing bad things? This is too big. What are they supposed to _do?_

_Where the hell is Peter?_

The holoscreen behind Ganke flickers out.

“Uh oh,” Ganke says, spinning around and tapping rapidly on the keyboard.

 _“What-_ oh?” Miles asks, fear curdling in his stomach. Did they trip Oscorp’s firewall? Have they been tracked? Hacked?

“Access revoked,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s cool voice says from above and then the glow of the keyboard vanishes from under Ganke’s finger-tips.

“Uh oh,” Miles says, a different kind of fear settling in his gut. They are so busted.

The door opens and Miles slowly turns to face it, not sure who he’d prefer to find standing in the doorway.

Pepper shuts the door behind her with a snap and skewers him with a sharp stare. “What were you thinking?”

His mouth falls open but nothing comes out. With a glance at Ganke’s ashen face, he realizes he’s on his own.

“I… Research?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Pepper draws up to her full height and her heels rap against the tile as she strides across the room, fire in her eyes.

“Oscorp?” she hisses. “You hacked into _Oscorp?_ Our number one competitor? Do you have any idea how this will look if anyone noticed someone at Stark Industries snooping around Oscorp’s secure server?”

The blood drains away from his face. He feels sick. “I…”

“I trusted you.”

The words hit him like a slap.

“I didn’t ask questions. I gave you access to _F.R.I.D.A.Y._ Do you understand how few people get that privilege? Then you took at privilege, that _trust,_ and you—,”

“It was important, ma’am,” Ganke says. His voice trembles but he doesn’t flinch when Pepper turns her piercing stare onto him. “People… people are in danger.”

Pepper regards him silently over pursed lips. Then she says, “Explain.”

They trip over each other as they hasten to tell her everything. Starting with Captain Stacy asking Miles for help and ending with their discoveries today.

When they finish, Pepper is sitting across the conference table from them with her head bowed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Miles can’t tell if they’re still in trouble or not. Silence is heavy in the air as he and Ganke trade a glance but neither of them is brave (or stupid) enough to break it.

Pepper recaptures their attention as she draws in a deep breath and lifts her head. Her spine straightens and she folds her hands neatly in her lap as she regards them, the sharp fury from before now absent from her expression.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” she says. “You’re right. This is important.” She takes another breath. “What’s next?”

Miles and Ganke look at each other blankly. They hadn’t gotten that far yet. He has barely come to terms with the fact that there are now potentially _nine_ more people out there who need his help.

“I want to check the list of secret subjects against missing people reports filed in July and August,” Ganke says hesitantly.

Pepper nods. “Does this require hacking into the police database?”

“Uhh…”

She sighs. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. please reinstate access for Ganke Lee and Miles Morales. I still want to be informed of what they’re doing.”

She raises her eyebrows at them like she’s waiting for them to object but they’re not stupid. What kind of idiot would argue with being granted access to Stark resources just because they’re being monitored?

“I can’t—,” She pauses, biting her lip. “Stark Industries can’t be involved in this, you understand that, right? It would sabotage any case that could be made against Oscorp.”

“Right,” Miles says, heart sinking.

“That’s not to say I’m not in your corner. I’m here to help. You have my number. Use it,” she says, staring him in the eye. “Don’t do anything drastic without calling me first. Research and investigate but any kind of rescue mission is to be handed off to the Avengers, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

She watches him for a handful of seconds and then sighs. She looks tired. “I have a meeting I’m officially late for. Let F.R.I.D.A.Y. know if you need help with anything and, Miles?” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “I _do_ trust you.”

He thinks she means for it to be reassuring but her trust settles on his shoulders like yet another burden. How many people are counting on him? How many are going to be let down if he can’t figure this out?

She leaves the room and he and Ganke trade wide-eyed looks, marveling at their luck but unwilling to test it farther by saying anything where F.R.I.D.A.Y. can overhear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!! Welcome back friends :)
> 
> I'm down to one eye thanks to some crazy allergy BS going on with me right now but I still got the chapter out in time lmao Thank you everyone for reading and commenting!!! There's nothing I love as much as getting those emails telling me I got a new comment! You guys are the best!


	9. Will you be my boy?

~ **Harley** ~

“I’m telling you, they’ve got to stop doing these things without talking to me first. This is case in point what I’ve been trying to tell them this whole time.”

“I agree with you, but he doesn’t need you to scold him right now. If you can’t have a calm discussion about this then you should go somewhere else.”

“You can’t kick me out of my own lab.”

“I’m not— Tony, that’s enough. You know that’s not what I’m doing. I understand you’re worried and stressed. I am too. But that’s no reason to take it out on me or Harley.”

Harley slowly comes to in the middle of a hushed argument between Pepper and Tony. He’s huddled in a warm cocoon of blankets and his body has become one with the futon. He never wants to get up. He can’t remember the last time he slept that deeply.

“I’m not taking anything out on anybody. I only—,”

“Really? Then why am I feeling so attacked? If you say it’s because I’m being sensitive I swear to God—,”

“Okay! Alright. Maybe I’m being a little attacky.” Tony takes a deep breath and pushes it back out. “Calm. Rational. I can do that. No sweat. Should we wake him up?”

“Let him sleep. He needs it.”

“It’s been almost twelve hours, Pep. I’m not sure this much sleep is healthy.”

Twelve…

His eyes open with a snap.

Twelve hours?! He slept for twelve hours???

He sits up all at once and sways as his vision spots and goes black. He blinks rapidly until it clears. Tony and Pepper are across the room at Tony’s workbench watching at him. Tony is wearing a deep frown while Pepper looks almost amused. Almost. There are stress lines beside her eyes that weren’t there last time he saw her.

What could _possibly_ be wrong _now?_

“Time is it?” he mumbles, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth. He squints at the window but it’s dark. Something pulls the skin on his cheek. He rubs it with his knuckles and finds dried drool crusted there. “Guh.” Something falls off his head and when he looks to his lap he finds the princess eye mask there. He must have dislodged it while he slept.

He rubs his face roughly with his hands, feeling like he was brought back from the dead. No one should be allowed to sleep for twelve hours.

“It’s a quarter past six,” Pepper tells him.

Harley squints out the window again. This time of year that could be morning or night and the sky would look basically the same.

“In the morning,” she clarifies.

Oh thank God. He doesn’t think he could handle missing class and having to catch up. Not with everything else going on.

“I’m glad you’re awake. We’ve got something to talk about,” Tony says.

Right. The new bad thing they were arguing about. He doesn’t know if he can handle more bad news but it doesn’t sound like he has a choice.

“Give him a minute to wake up, Tony.”

“‘S Fine,” he says, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders as he slouches against the armrest and tucks his knees to his chest. “Just get it over with.”

Pepper purses her lips but doesn’t argue further.

“Your instant gram post blew up,” Tony says without preamble.

“Instagram,” he corrects automatically before what he said sinks in. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“People are asking questions,” Pepper says more delicately. “They want to know what’s wrong with Peter.”

Oh. Harley closes his eyes and leans back into the futon, pulling his knees tighter against his chest. A moment later Pepper settles beside him and puts her arm around his shoulders, tucking him against her side.

“The paparazzi?” he asks woodenly.

“Swarming,” Tony says. A stool scrapes the floor and Harley cracks open his eyes to find Tony settling atop it across from him.

“I’m handling it,” Pepper assures him, squeezing his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I thought… It’s stupid.” So fucking stupid. “I just… Peter wouldn’t want people wondering why we aren’t posting. Thought I was helping. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“We’ll work it out,” Pepper says gently. “In the meantime, I think you should stay home from school and off the internet. There’s only a week left before Thanksgiving break and then—,”

“No,” Harley interrupts, sitting up straight. Pepper’s arm falls from around his shoulders. “No, I need to keep going. They always pile on homework before breaks. I can’t miss it.”

He hates to say it, but the structure and escape his classes provide are the only things keeping him from spiraling completely. Besides, he made a commitment to keep going for Peter’s sake. So that when he gets back he has all of the information he needs to jump back in. He needs to keep going, for his sake and for Peter’s.

Pepper bites her lip. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can talk to your professors. Get your homework via email. After break, we can reevaluate and see what can be done.”

Harley shakes his head. “I have labs. There’s a chem test on— fuck... Thursday? I think? I have to go.”

“Happy can drive him,” Tony says. “God knows he’s got plenty of experience beating back reporters.”

Pepper still looks uncertain but she nods. “Alright. You still have that watch, right?”

Harley lifts his wrist, displaying his watch that he tricked out after him and Peter got kidnapped. He’s never had to use it but he still practices with the taser so that if he ever needs to it’ll be reflex.

“Always,” he tells her.

“Okay. That makes me feel a little better. If you feel the slightest bit overwhelmed, hit the panic button and we’ll get you out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pepper kisses the side of his head and pulls him into a hug. “When did you go and grow up on me?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. He doesn’t feel grown-up. He feels like he’s hanging onto the edge of the world by the skin of his teeth.

~*~

Happy stops along the curb in front of the school and the reporters don’t waste a second before surrounding the car and shouting questions through the darkened glass.

“Hang tight, kid,” Happy says as he pops open his door. The clamor of the crowd is cacophonous for the few seconds it takes for Happy to duck out of the car and close the door. He feels sick. He wishes he would have taken the out Pepper gave him and stayed home. It’s Friday. He could have at least stayed home today and waited out the weekend to see if the storm would die down. But no. He’s here. And he’s an idiot.

The school’s security guards (hired thanks to Tony’s donation) help Happy clear and hold a path from the car to the school. Him and Peter had mocked Tony for being over-protective and paranoid about the school’s security but now he gets it. For a moment, he imagines Tony’s childhood. Growing up like this. Having to plan around media attention. Living like a bug in a jar.

Then Happy opens the door.

It’s loud and bright and he hates it. Cameras flash in his face even though he keeps his head ducked. Everyone’s yelling and it’s so loud and jarring he can’t even tell what they’re saying at first. Happy puts a protective arm around his shoulders and they hustle towards the school, Harley clutching his backpack like a lifeline against his chest.

“Where’s Peter?”

“Can you address rumors that he’s in a coma?”

“Has Peter been kidnapped again?”

The last one hits a little too close to home. They make it into the school, the security team bringing up the rear and the doors close behind them. Some of the reporters still shout questions through the glass but for the most part, they leave off, having already seen what they came to see, knowing that he won’t be exiting the building again for hours.

The only people around are the security guard that’s manning the front desk and the ones that followed them in and are now standing off to the side of the doors talking seriously and gesturing at the reporters blocking the doors. None of them are paying any attention to him, thank God.

He just needs a minute to catch his breath. His ears ring with the sudden absence of sound and he blinks furiously to clear the green and purple splotches from his vision. Suddenly Tony’s douchey tinted glasses make sense and he doesn’t think he’s ever understood the billionaire more.

“You alright, kid?” Happy asks. “You know we can turn it around and go home if you’re not up for this. You’re lookin’ a little pale.”

He pulls in a deep breath and puts on his backpack.

“I’m good.”

He’s not but Happy doesn’t need to know that. He didn’t go through all that to quit now. He’s already here so he might as well stick it out. To keep them from shaking, he clenches his fists around the straps of his backpack.

“Want me to walk you to class?”

He shoots Happy a look. The _last_ thing he needs is to draw more attention to himself.

Happy puts up his hands in surrender. “Just askin’. I’ll be back at two unless you call me sooner. Meet me here at the security desk. Don’t leave the building under any circumstances, got it?” he says, pointing a stern finger at Harley’s chest.

“Got it.”

Happy narrows his eyes in unwarranted suspicion and Harley rolls his eyes.

“Hap, I’m not Peter. I’m not gonna go sneakin’ around the city, alright? I’ll call you if I need picked up early.”

Surprise flickers across Happy’s face and then a sad, rueful smile curls his lips. “Sorry, kid. Old habits I guess. Lookin’ after that kid is such a pain in the ass. He never stays where he’s supposed to.”

Case in point, him not being here now.

“Part of his charm,” he mutters. “Anything else I should know, oh wise Head of Security?”

“Yeah, steer clear of that new gyro cart on 38th. I’ve been shitting soup for two days.”

A smile cracks across Harley’s face so unexpectedly it hurts. “Thanks, Happy.”

Happy claps as heavy hand onto his shoulder. “Anytime, kid.”

People stop in the hallway as Harley passes them, their whispers following him. They stare unapologetically and he hates it. He hates being so seen.

When he steps into his first class of the day people are clustered up and talking animatedly and for a moment he can breathe. He slips to the back of the room before anyone can notice him coming in and starts pulling his things out of his bag.

“Hey, did you see that mob of reporters out front?”

He snaps his head up to find a guy standing in front of his desk waiting for a response. Declan is his name, he’s pretty sure. He’s one of the ones that’s started talking to him now that him and Peter aren’t connected at the hip.

The class goes quiet. No one turns to look, but it’s obvious they’re all listening intently.

“Crazy, right?” Declan says.

_Flashing lights, a wall of noise, Happy’s arm heavy around his shoulders._

“Kinda hard to miss,” he says, stilted.

Declan’s friendly expression falters for a second but then he hitches up a forced smile. “It’s pretty exciting, isn’t it? The school’s never gotten this much attention before.”

The school still isn’t getting attention. It’s _him_ who’s the subject of the attention and it fucking sucks, thank you very much.

He can’t think of anything to say. He just stares until Declan grows visibly uncomfortable and mumbles something about ‘trying to make conversation’ before slinking back to his seat a few rows up.

No one bothers him after that.

He doesn’t raise his hand during class discussion and he doesn’t offer answers even when the rest of the class is apparently stumped. In the hallways between classes, he keeps his head down and ignores the whispers. He’s glad he’s not Peter. He doesn’t know how he would handle it if he could hear exactly what they were saying.

“Hey.”

He quickens his pace and lengthens his stride, resolutely ignoring the presence suddenly at his side. Not many people have approached him, most preferring to stick to whispering with their friends but like Declan, there have been a few brave enough to attempt awkward conversation, each more uncomfortable than the last.

The girl matches his pace effortlessly. “You training for a marathon or something? Not that I don’t enjoy the chance to stretch my legs.”

Hold on.

He looks up and meets Trinity’s stare, her delicate blonde eyebrows quirked. He almost feels relief but it’s immediately tempered by caution. She’s a fan. She could be digging for news about Peter just like everyone else. Or looking for a chance to share in the spotlight.

“Okay then,” she says when he doesn’t respond. “Anyway I’ve got class in a minute but I saw you and wanted to say we can hang downstairs in the library today instead of the coffee shop if that’s better for you.”

Oh fuck, that’s right. He did agree to that, didn’t he? Can he get out of it? Should he? Does he want to commit to an hour trapped in conversation with someone who—

“Or… we could take a rain check,” Trinity says. She looks unsure now. “Or just… not.”

Harley shakes his head. “Sorry, I just… I don’t know.” People are blatantly watching them walk together and the whispers are getting worse. “You sure you wanna be roped into this?”

“No,” she responds. She pointedly doesn’t look around at the people stopping to stare. “Honestly, I almost pretended like a didn’t see you. Sorry.”

He snorts. “Don’t blame you.”

Trinity tucks her hair behind her ears. “Anyway, I’m going this way.” She gestures to a hall to the left. “I’ll be in the library after this class. You can show up or not. It’s whatever.”

“Okay,” he says, noncommittal.

“Good luck,” she tells him sincerely.

It warms him a little to hear. “Thanks.”

They part ways and he feels a tiny bit less miserable as he sits alone at the back of the room hunched over his notebook so he doesn’t accidentally look up and meet anyone’s gaze. Ten minutes in, he takes out his phone and texts Happy that he’s going to be studying after class and to pick him up at three. Then he sends a similar text to Tony so he doesn’t panic when he isn’t home on time.

~*~

The library is quiet. There are whispers here, but they don’t follow him like they do in the halls. He feels a weight slide off his shoulders as he winds through the stacks looking for wherever Trinity is holed up. Maybe she changed her mind? She didn’t seem excited about getting into all of his drama and being dragged through the rumor mill. He’s already heard three different rumors speculating on her involvement in Peter’s absence since their conversation in the hallway, each more wild and desperate than the last.

How could anyone think he’d cheat on Peter? It’s ludicrous. Completely unfathomable. And of course, they’re spinning it like she’s some kind of seductress.

Puh _-lease._ If the rural south couldn’t stamp the gay out of him, nothing can.

Still, he wouldn’t blame her if she bailed.

He’s about to give up and text Happy that he won’t be staying late after all when he spots her at a small table tucked neatly behind a large pillar.

“Hey,” he says as he drops his bag beside the empty chair across from her.

She looks up from a thick textbook with a start. “Oh! You actually showed. Shoot, uh let me…” She hastily scoops a couple of notebooks and a graphics calculator back to her side of the table and stacks everything neatly.

“Almost didn’t see you back here,” he says as he pulls out his own things and arranges them in into haphazard piles in front of him.

“Yeah, sorry. I figured you’d appreciate not being out in the middle of everyone. S.T.E.M. schools are pretty great in a lot of ways but their poetry selection leaves a lot to be desired.”

Harley looks around at the shelves around them for the first time. The books are ancient and worn and shelved to make the selection look bigger than it is. “Huh. You like poetry?”

“Nope, but I do like a good secluded corner when I can find one.” She grins at him. “Do you mind if I finish this? I’m almost done.”

“That’s fine. I don’t have anything specific I need help with this time. I was gonna re-write my notes and stuff.” He shrugs, feeling stupidly self-conscious. She already admitted she offered tutoring as an olive branch to friendship. He shouldn’t feel so awkward admitting that he didn’t come to her for homework help but maybe also for friendship.

“Okay cool. Let me know if you run into any questions, yeah?”

“Yeah okay.”

They work silently. He’s hyper-aware of her every move, too self-conscious to relax and get absorbed in his work. She doesn’t appear to have the same issue and steadily plows through a worksheet without looking up at him once. Eventually, he’s able to get in the zone and block out everything else as he painstakingly rewrites his notes from the lecture in class and supplements what he wrote with information from the textbook. He carefully highlights vocabulary words in blue and anything the professor said would be on the test in pink and then goes through and adds green stars next to anything he thinks would be interesting for them to give a whirl on their own in the lab.

“Holy shit,” Trinity says out of the blue.

Harley glances up and finds her leaning across the table to look at his notebook at the carefully penned letters and rigid outline format. “What?”

“You’re like those journalers.”

He frowns. “What?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “There’s this aesthetic journaling Facebook page that my mom follows but it’s not important. That’s impressive,” she says, pointing at his notebook.

He shrugs. He works really hard on his notes. He had to dig out one of Peter’s old notebooks from high school so he could scribble in it during class and then re-write everything in his actual notebook later. There’s a drastic difference between the front half of his notebook compared to the pages from the past twelve days. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back. He’s stuck being an anal note-taker for the rest of his life and it’s all Peter Parker’s fault and he’s not even here for him to gripe at about it.

“Will you write my notes?” Trinity asks.

He snorts. “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

“Jesus, did we time travel back to 2012 when I wasn’t looking?”

“Yikes, I hope not. I’m not ready to re-live middle school.”

Trinity shudders. “Was middle school hell for everyone? I’ve never met anyone who liked it but there has to be someone, right? What do the popular kids remember about it? Wait, were you a popular kid?”

“Try social pariah.”

She grimaces. “Sounds rough.”

“What about you?” he asks curiously. “Pretty, blonde, smart. How were you not in with the cool kids?”

She laughs. “Oh no way. I was the _tall girl_ who had the audacity to not be interested in basketball or volleyball and spent all her time in the tech ed classroom. Not to mention these bad boys.” She taps behind her ear and for the first time, Harley notices she’s wearing hearing aids.

Has she had those this whole time? How did he not notice? They’re flesh-colored and a sleeker design than what he’s seen.

“No,” she continues. “I was practically a certified freak.”

“Small town?”

“Oh for sure.”

“You make any cool lamps?”

She grins. “So many cool lamps. My mom still uses one of them on her nightstand. It has a stuffed bunny for the body. What about you? I bet you were a menace.”

He makes an offended sound. “How dare you? I was a model student!”

She raises her eyebrows and waits with a smile for him to tell the truth.

“Okay so maybe I got in a little trouble for stealing the canisters from the CO2 cars and teaching people how to make potato guns.”

Trinity sits back in her seat, a satisfied smirk on her face. “I knew it. You were a total troublemaker.”

Harley shrugs. “When the mood struck.” He doesn’t tell her about the fights.

“What about Peter?”

Harley blinks, surprised for a second to have Peter brought up so casually and without a shred of concern or worry behind the name.

“What was he like in middle school?” he asks.

“Just school in general. He’s a goody-goody, right? He seems like a teacher’s pet.”

How to describe Peter…

“Yes… and no.” Harley tips his head to the side thoughtfully. “He likes to do well and doesn’t like disappointing people so in that way he’s a good-goody but he’s also a total disaster.”

“What? Really?”

He grins as the perfect story pops into his head. “Okay so last month we were given a section review packet and had a week to complete it and he kept reminding me about it. _Every day,_ just because I didn’t do it the first day. Then the day it was due he freaked out because he realized he hadn’t done it.”

Trinity laughs. “Oh no!”

“I tried to get him to just copy mine because it was worth like 50 points and he’s basically a genius so it’s not like it wasn’t all stuff he knows anyway, but he flat out refused. Kept calling it cheating and that if he didn’t do the work himself then he doesn’t deserve the merit or whatever.”

“So he got a zero?” Trinity asks, teeth bared in a sympathetic grimace.

Harley scoffs. “No, he finished it on the subway in like ten minutes and only missed three questions, that bastard.” He’s smiling fully now as he remembers how pissed off he’d been. It had taken him an hour and several references back to the textbook to complete and then Peter breezed through it like it was a fourth grader’s multiplication table.

“Wow, what a dick.”

“Yeah, he is,” his voice going soft and fond without his permission.

Across from him, Trinity smirks and flips open that same sparkly notebook from yesterday and makes a big obvious checkmark.

~*~

Later on the drive home, he stares out the window lost in thought. Should he take Pepper’s advice after all and stay home next week? Today sucked. He hated being the center of attention. He hated being chaperoned to and from school. He hated the stares and the whispers.

It’s only five more days though. He’s got three labs and that chem test that he can’t miss and there’s no way there won’t be a stack of homework going home with him to complete during the week off for Thanksgiving.

If they could just find Peter they wouldn’t have to—

He sucks in a sharp breath as he realizes that none of them are counting on finding Peter before school lets out. They’re all operating under the assumption that they’ll have to keep weathering the media storm next week because Peter won’t be here to quell it.

When did that happen? When did they all give up? When did they switch from thinking they could find him at any moment to assuming that they won’t over the next week?

His chest hurts.

He needs to try harder.

~*~

He’s in the workshop when his phone starts vibrating. At first he thinks it must be Abbie, finally fed up with his vague responses to her texts. He doesn’t normally shut her out like this but he doesn’t know what to say to her. He never told her about Peter and she was rightfully upset when the media blew up a few days ago. The thing is, he can’t pretend with her—she’ll see right through him—but he doesn’t want her to know how poorly he’s been handling everything. So to him, the obvious solution is to simply… not interact.

He checks his phone and finds an unknown number taking up the screen. Perfect. He didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway.

He sends it to voicemail and gets back to attempting to manipulate nanites. Mastering nanotechnology doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with getting Peter back but he needs something to do even if the something he’s chosen makes him want to tear his hair out.

His phone buzzes again, signifying they actually left a voicemail. God, he hopes the media didn’t find his number. That would be just his luck. Morbid curiosity grips him and he plays the voicemail.

_“Hey man, it’s Keaton. This is stupid but… call me back if you feel like it.”_

Harley stares at his phone, mind completely blank. _Keaton_ called? What the fuck? He was shocked as hell when he accepted his apology way back in July but he thought it was asinine to expect him to call if he ever needed anything. They aren’t friends. They practically tortured each other back in school—two angry, trapped kids with nothing better to do than take it out on each other.

But he called. God, what could be bad enough to get him to swallow his pride and call _him_ of all people? It’s gotta be someone died levels of bad.

He’s calling him back before he can think it through. What does he have to offer other than the ear of a billionaire? He’s nothing. Nobody. How could he possibly help anyone?

“Hey,” Keaton answers after only a couple rings. “That was fast.”

“Is everything okay?” Harley asks.

“You tell me,” Keaton says. “I saw you on the news and you look like shit. How’re you holding up? Is he… okay?”

His brain stops. Is he… Did he call just to check on him?

_Does not compute. Does not compute. Shutting down._

No. That can’t be it. He’s like everyone else, fishing for information on Peter. Wanting to be in the know and have first-hand information from the easiest source to get to. Harley.

“What do you want?” he asks, tone sharp. “Did you seriously call just to see if I’d spill the beans and you could… I don’t know impress your new army buddies or sell it to the news or something? I’m not fuckin’ dumb.”

Keaton is silent for four long seconds and each one convinces Harley a little more that he’s right despite the niggling in the back of his mind that says there’s no way Keaton wouldn’t realize what a long shot it would be. But who knows, maybe he doesn’t mind burning bridges, no matter how recently repaired they are.

“I’m getting shipped out,” he says abruptly. Harley goes still. “Deployed to the middle east. Can’t say where but… I could be dead in a couple months.” He takes a deep breath and then says on the exhale, “I dunno. Puts things in perspective, I guess. Gives me more respect for the people who’ve been putting their lives on the line and protecting people without the paycheck or cushy life insurance policy. You get what I’m saying?”

There’s a buzzing in his ears and he’s suddenly very aware of every beat of his heart in his chest.

“No,” he says through numb lips. That can’t be what he’s saying. He can’t know. He can’t. Because if he does, it’s almost certainly his fault. He can’t know. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”

Keaton sighs. “Look just… Cut the crap, okay? It wasn’t that hard to figure out. You told me he’s someone who sees good in everyone and believes in second chances, right? That sounds like a friendly neighborhood kinda mentality to me. And now he hasn’t been seen in almost two weeks and apparently Spider-Man’s been on vacation for the first time ever for just as long and you look like you’re having a breakdown. Your boyfriend's not sick and Spidey’s not on some beach in Florida.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t. His heart is rabbiting in his chest and he feels sick to his stomach. He knew this would happen. He _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to keep this secret for Peter.

Fuck. _Fuck._

“What do you want?” He doesn’t have anything that could buy Keaton’s silence but Tony does. He can—

“Look,” Keaton says again, “I know you don’t got a lot of reason to trust me, but I swear I’m not gonna tell anyone. I’m just… checking in. Spider-Man is a lot of things to a lot of people so I… I want to help if I can. He’s not… He’s not _dead_ , right?”

His stomach churns. He sounds sincere but he desperately wants to believe this isn’t the precursor to some fucked up extortion bullshit. He wants to believe him.

He takes a slow careful breath and tips his head to the ceiling as he screws his eyes shut. He won’t cry. He won’t cry. Not now. Not to _Keaton_ of all people.

“He…” He swallows thickly. Here goes nothin’. “There was this weird portal and he went through it. We’re trying to find him but I don’t— He just… He’s just _gone.”_ His breath catches as his throat goes tight and he falls silent.

“Shit, man. What are you— I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“He was wearing his suit.” He doesn’t even want to think about what would have happened if plain-clothed Peter up and disappeared. Surely Tony has some trackers on his personal things, but nothing as high tech as what’s in the suit. And wherever Peter ended up… he probably needs the suit.

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Keaton says. “You’re talking about his Spider-Man suit, right?”

“Yeah. There’s a tracker in it.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. So you’re tracking it?”

“We can’t find the signal,” he admits begrudgingly. What good is their tech if they can’t _find_ it? “It’s not anywhere on Earth as far as we can tell.”

“So you’re…”

“Searching in space,” he says, frowning at the holoscreen displaying an empty patch of black.

“What the fuck? Can he—,” He cuts himself off but Harley hears the rest of the question anyway. _Can he survive in space?_

“I don’t know, but I’ve gotta try right? There are planets out there with atmosphere humans can survive in. At least that’s what Thor says. He’s been putting the word around and seeing if anyone’s seen him. He might not even be out there. There’s—,” He scrubs his hand roughly through his hair. “There’s this wizard. Well, S.H.E.I.L.D. thinks he’s a wizard. But apparently there’s a supposed goddamn wizard living in New York. He thinks he got portal-ed onto another plane of existence or something? I don’t know. It’s all just… We’re grasping at straws.”

Keaton is quiet for a beat and then he says, “You’re a long way from Rose Hill, huh?”

Harley startles himself with a laugh. It’s choked and trips out of his throat with all the grace of a headless chicken but it’s a laugh. “You have no idea.”

“I don’t know what I thought I could do to help, but damn. This is even farther over my head than I thought.”

“Honestly?” Harley says, “Mine too.”

“You’ll find him,” Keaton says with baffling confidence.

“You listen to all that and you come away thinkin’ we know what we’re doing?”

“That ain’t what I said, but you’ve already gone a lot farther than I would’ve thought possible so… Keep digging. You’re gonna find him.”

Harley shakes his head. He doesn’t have anything to say to that. It doesn’t feel like they’ve made progress. It feels like they’re blindly feeling around in the dark, hoping to stumble across him. He looks at the holoscreen again. That’s _exactly_ what they’re doing.

“Listen,” Keaton says, filling the silence, “I know the timing sucks but if you’re back in Rose Hill round Christmas we’re doing a going away thing for me at the bar. You can stop by if you want. Bring your ma and Abbie. Peter too.”

He doesn’t know what to say. How did they get to this point? If you’d asked him who his worst enemy was a year ago, Keaton would have been the first name out of his mouth. Now he’s getting invited to parties and receiving phone calls just to check in. How is this his life?

“You just want Spider-Man at your little party,” he eventually says, falling back on the familiar ribbing instead of the uncomfortable sincerity they somehow landed in.

“Not just Spider-Man,” Keaton whips back without missing a beat. “I saw the news clip of you in that Iron Man suit barreling into that huge rhino guy. That was badass.”

He shudders remembering that nightmare of a night. “I promise it wasn’t as cool as it looked.”

Keaton scoffs. “Maybe you’ve been desensitized but for the rest of us, saving Iron Man _and_ Spider-Man? It’s a big fuckin’ deal. You’re a local legend now.”

He groans and puts his head in his hand. He hadn’t thought of that. It was news for a week here in New York. As choked with superheroes as the city is, some one-hit-wonder in a tin can didn’t hold anyone’s attention for long. In Rose Hill though… He’ll be remembered forever.

God, he hopes nobody paints a fucking mural.

Keaton laughs. “The whole town is dying to get their hands on you. It’s gonna be like you were never that little shit leaving tire tracks in everyone’s flower gardens and breaking windows with a potato cannon at two in the morning.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go to your shindig then. Wouldn’t want to steal your limelight.”

“Fuck off, Keener. I’m counting this as your RSVP and putting you down for plus three. If you don’t show that means you hate America and think all troops should be put down like dogs.”

Keaton hangs up just like that, leaving Harley staring at the blinking ‘call ended’ on the screen in bewilderment. That whole conversation was very… friendly. When did his life get so goddamn weird?

He hesitates and then with an air of _this might as well happen,_ adds Keaton’s number to his contacts then sets his phone aside and picks up his screwdriver.

~*~

A hand on his back startles him into consciousness. He wrenches upright from where he’d been slumped on the workbench and immediately regrets it when his back locks up. With a groan, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks several times upon finding May standing beside him with an apologetic look on her face.

“Hey, sweetie. I had the day off so I thought I’d stop by.”

“May?” he slurs. “What’re you—,” Guilt sweeps over him all at once. Her nephew is missing and it’s up to him and Tony to find him yet here he is sleeping on the job. She’s probably here to see if they’ve made any progress but the only progress Harley’s made is in the puddle of drool on his arm. “Sorry. I must’ve fallen asleep. I um—,” He squints at the monitor and tries to force his sleep-riddled brain to make sense of what he’s looking at. “I finished searching sector 32 of quadrant 3 and was about—,”

May puts her hand over his and he sucks in a startled breath. He’s spent too much time sequestered away in the lab again. Casual skin on skin touch shouldn’t be such a shock to his system.

“I know how hard you’re working. That’s not why I’m here,” May says but then reconsiders. “Well, actually it is. I brought dinner and a movie. Join me?”

He stares at her. “Huh?”

May lifts a reusable bag and repeats herself, “Dinner.” She points over towards the futon at a holoscreen that wasn’t active before Harley’s impromptu nap. “Movie.” She gently tugs his hand. “Join me.”

He stumbles to his feet and lets her guide him to the futon. You don’t say no to May Parker. May deposits him in the center, pulls her long hair into a messy bun, and then sits cross-legged beside him and starts pulling things out of her bag: three Tupperware containers, forks, napkins, a bottle of Angry Orchard, and a couple of juice boxes.

He frowns at the juice boxes. They’re so _Peter_ and he’s not here and he hasn’t been here and he’s not sure how to get him back. He’s been trying so hard but they’re not any closer to finding him than they were at the start.

“Here,” May hands him one of the Tupperwares and a fork. “Tell me what you think. Be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.” She gives him a warning look, eyebrow cocked, then opens a different container and gives the contents a stir with her fork before spearing a broccoli floret and popping it in her mouth. She pulls a face. “Too much salt? Interesting. I don’t remember adding salt.”

Harley pries the lid off his Tupperware and sets it on the empty cushion beside him. Inside is some kind of meat and potato something. Pork? Maybe? It’s already cut up so he stabs a bite. It’s on the verge of being cold and it’s chewy and dry but the flavor is good. It could use a little pepper maybe.

“Not bad. A little overdone.”

May hums and reaches over him to stab up a piece to try for herself. She chews thoughtfully before nodding. “Astute analysis, Mr. Keener,” she says, affecting a posh accent. “I concur. Now the potatoes.” She gestures with her fork pointedly.

He cracks a ghost of a smile and forks up a chunk of potato. It squelches apart between his teeth, bland and gritty and unpleasant.

“You murdered the potatoes.”

She laughs and the sound is so unexpected and at odds with the atmosphere of desperation and grief that’s been plaguing the tower, he can’t help but stare. May grins at him and it’s not fake and it’s not forced. How? How is she not trapped at the bottom of the same pit of terror and despair that he can’t seem to claw his way out of without sliding back every time he thinks he’s making progress?

May plucks out a chunk of potato and makes a face. “You’re right. I think they might be beyond saving. Oh well. The meat is good at least. I’ll take one out of three.”

Harley glances at the broccoli in her lap and stabs a floret. She’s right. It is salty. She probably used salted butter. A _lot_ of salted butter.

“I bet if we mix the potatoes and broccoli they’ll even out and be palatable. Potatoes are still gonna be mushy though.”

“Harley Keener, you’re a genius,” May says and immediately starts transferring potatoes into the broccoli container.

It’s a messy process. The potatoes are so overcooked that they fall apart before making it to the other container and by the time they’re finished moving them they have to get up and swipe crumbly bits of potato to the floor. Bumpurr springs from nowhere and starts batting at the bigger bits. He wonders for a moment if cats are allowed to eat potatoes but she doesn’t seem interested in eating them, only playing so it’s probably fine either way.

“Remind me to sweep that up later,” May says as she resettles on the futon.

He sits cross-legged beside her, careful to keep his toes where Bumpurr can’t get them. When she’s playful like this, anything can become a toy.

“It’s fine. U will get it.” He pulls a plastic spring out of his pocket and tosses it across the room. Bumpurr hears it hit the floor and abandons the potatoes to leap after it. Their toes are safe for now.

May pauses in stirring together the broccoli and potatoes. “That’s what I— I might need a reminder.”

“Oh sorry. No, U is one of Tony’s robots. Dum-E is still grounded from sweeping because last time he knocked over Peter’s web fluid chemicals and we had to evacuate the lab because he created a corrosive gas.”

May stares at him. “Oh. Alright. I’ll pretend that’s not horrifying. You want the first sample?” She offers the broccoli and potato container and he obediently scoops up a bite, making sure to get both on his fork.

“Way better,” he says nodding.

She tries some and smiles. “I’m counting this as a full success. Haven’t had one of those since the stir fry I made in April. Peter’s going to be so bummed he missed it.”

Harley drops his gaze and eats another piece of meat, taking his time chewing. It’s stupid but it feels like it’s his fault that Peter’s not back yet. He should be better. He should be able to figure this out and fix it. He shouldn’t have to miss out on anything. May shouldn’t have to settle for him instead of her nephew.

“I brought over our copy of The Little Rascals but there don’t seem to be any DVD players in this place,” May says lightly.

“Oh.” Harley clears his throat, fighting away the burn in his eyes. “It’s uh— You just tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. what you want to watch and she’ll play it. She’s got everything.”

“Hmm.” She taps her fork thoughtfully against her lips. “Does it ever bother you when you’re reminded that Tony’s a fucking billionaire?”

Harley snorts. “Oh yeah. I do my part to redistribute the wealth though. First thing I did when I got here was memorize his credit card information.”

May laughs again and it hurts his heart to hear it. Then she kisses the side of his forehead and his heart squeezes painfully. She catches his stare and her delight tamps down to an expression of soft understanding.

“How are you not…” He trails off.

“Scared shitless?” she asks gently. “Drowning in grief?”

She takes the Tupperware from his lap and sets both containers on the floor. Then she wraps her arms around him and tucks his head against her shoulder. He closes his eyes and hugs her back, squeezing tighter than he normally would but she doesn’t seem to mind as she pets his hair soothingly.

“I am scared. Peter’s… Peter’s everything to me. He’s all I—,” She releases a slow calming breath and presses on. “After Ben… Do you know what it’s like to lose everything? To have your entire world ripped up by the foundation and tossed aside like it’s nothing? I can’t do that again. Not Peter. He’s… He’s all I have left.

“So I can’t stop living. I can’t stop finding joy in the little things. I know if I think for even a second that he might not come back, I’ll stop. I’ll lay in bed and never get back up. So I’m… I don’t think about it if I can help it and I keep having faith.”

“Faith?” he echoes. He’d never gotten the impression that May was religious. Spiritual, yes. But religious?

She pulls back and smooths her hands on his shoulders. There are tears in her eyes as she meets his gaze but then she smiles and it’s genuine.

“I see you,” she says, her tone and eyes intense and heartfelt, “and I see Tony. I see how hard you’re fighting to find him and get him back. You don’t seem like the quitting type and I know Tony isn’t. You’ll find him. I just need to be patient and have faith and make sure you don’t kill yourselves in the process.”

Her faith is in _him?_

A torrent of guilt and fear and hopelessness swirls within him, choking him and stinging his eyes. Who would ever put their faith in _him?_ He’s just Harley Keener. A nobody from Bumfuck Nowhere, Tennessee who thought he could make something of himself if he could pry himself out of his small dusty town. But the dust clings and no matter how many times he kicks at his boots, he always finds more.

May cradles his face between her palms, her skin soft and scented like lavender, nothing like his mother’s dry cracked hands from hours spent washing dishes and scrubbing tables. He leans into her touch anyway and closes his eyes.

“You don’t have to believe,” she tells him. “I believe enough for the both of us. You just have to make sure you always get back up.” She presses another kiss to his forehead and then her hands fall away and Harley opens his eyes to find her composed and smiling gently once again. “For now we rest and when we’re done, we’re going to get back up and try some more. Okay?”

He nods.

“Now that that’s settled, my boy is temporarily misplaced and I need someone to dote on. Will you be my boy?” she asks, looking him dead in the eye with such an earnest expression that he finds himself nodding again.

She’s so much like Peter. In the nature vs. nurture argument, nurture is the clear and obvious champion. How else could they be so similar without a speck of shared blood between them?

“That’s a promise,” May warns him, “and I’m holding you to it. No take-backsies.”

Harley huffs. “Alright. No take-backsies.”

May smirks and then fishes their food off the floor. “Now that our dinner is well and truly cold, we should eat. F.R.I.D.A.Y. play The Little Rascals for us please. The movie, not the cartoon.”

The holoscreen flares to life as she passes Harley a juice box and twists the top off her beer. A moment later the movie begins to play. They watch and eat in silence until the food is gone and then May pulls out a fourth Tupperware and reveals a tub of jello.

“Jello?” he asks. He’s always thought of jello as a little kid food. He hasn’t had it in years.

“I love jello. It’s so refreshing,” May says, scraping out a bite with her fork. It wobbles dangerously but she slurps it into her mouth before it can fall. She closes her eyes and hums happily. “Should’ve brought spoons. Oh well.”

Harley scoops some up and crams it in his mouth quickly before he drops it. It’s sweet and cool on his tongue.

When the jello is gone, they settle back on the couch and he doesn’t resist as May wraps her arms around his shoulders and tucks him against her side. He settles his head on her shoulder and she hums softly as she strokes his hair. Before too long his eyes droop and his body sags. He fights it at first. It’s a good movie and he’d like to watch it but damn, he’s just so tired.

“Lay down, sweetie,” May says softly. “I’ll wake you up when it’s over and then you can get back to work.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He scoots down and lays his head in May’s lap, curling up his legs to fit on the remainder of the futon. He lets his mind fuzz as she continues to hum and stroke his hair, finding peace in the chaos.

~ **Peter** ~

After changing out of their fancy theater clothes and back into their suits, they go into the backyard with the portal box. A privacy fence shields them from any peeping Toms but if it doesn’t… well, it’s New York. Weird portals and costumed spider-people aren’t even close to the weirdest thing that’s happened this week.

For some reason, he feels nervous and it shows in the way he’s wringing his mask to death.

“So they’re probably going to be kind of pissed at me for disappearing for a whole day, maybe more. Mr. Stark especially can get kinda overbearing when he’s worried. He’s nice though! But If it’s okay with you guys, can we kind of hang out with them for a little while until everyone calms down? Then we can go take care of the thingy? And Miles can talk to Miles? My Miles might already be at the tower actually so—,”

“Uh yeah, that’s fine,” Other Miles interrupts, bless his soul. “We can hang for a while. The glitching doesn’t usually get too bad until you’re going on day three.”

“Did you say Stark?” Gwen asks.

“I think I also caught ‘tower’,” Peter B. says from the porch next to Mary Jane. Mayday is asleep on his shoulder and he’s frowning warily.

“Oh, did I not mention? I uh, live with the Avengers. Me and Harley moved in when school started because it’s closer. Actually, he moved in, oh man, it’s been almost a year now. But yeah, they’re probably a little worried about me and when they get worried they get all fussy. So just… I don’t think they’ll be mad at you guys or anything but they’ll need some time to lecture me and stuff so—,”

“Slow down, kid,” Peter B. says, looking like he’s staving off an aneurysm.

“You’re an Avenger?” Other Miles asks, awed.

“Well, no. I said no. Avengers don’t really do friendly neighbor—,”

“Are you saying the Avengers know who you are?” Peter B. demands. “Under the mask, they know your name and face and everything?”

“I mean… yeah? Mr. Stark tracked me down right away almost. I’d only been going out for like six months.”

“And you just moved in? What about Aunt May? What does she think, that you’re in some dorm somewhere?”

For some reason, Peter B. sounds angry.

“What? No! She actually talked me into it when I almost chickened out. She liked that there’d be responsible adults around to make sure I didn’t run myself into the ground trying to keep up with school work and Spider-Man. Not that the Avengers are what I would consider responsible adults.” He pauses. “Actually, now that I think about it maybe she meant Harley and Pepper.”

“She knows?” Peter B. asks, stunned. “She knows you’re Spider-Man and she’s… okay with that?”

“Ahhh, most of the time? She doesn’t like it when I get shot which, understandable. She got mad at Mr. Stark a lot when she first found out but I think… I think she gets it now. That even though he made a lot of tech for me in the beginning, it’s not him. It’s me. It’s… It’s my choice. My responsibility. And I’d be doing it with or without his help.”

He fidgets in the ensuing quiet. “So umm, anyway. Are we ready?”

Gwen shakes her head. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go meet your wackadoo superfamily.”

“I’m having second thoughts!” Other Miles blurts. “Am I ready to meet Iron Man? Is Black Widow gonna be there?”

“Oh God, I hope not.” He shudders imagining her disappointed stare.

“I feel like I should go,” Peter B. says abruptly.

“Nope.” Mary Jane interlocks her arm through his. “No one needs another pissing contest between you and Iron Man. Peter sounds like he’s doing just fine.” She smiles at him. “Thanks for the help, Tiger. Go let your people know you’re alright.”

“The writer is really screwing us over with this one,” Deadpool grumbles. “Everyone knows how much I love the Avengers.”

Gwen rolls her eyes and fiddles with the portal box. “What was the universe number again? I did too many threes, right?”

“1433,” Peter recites. He doesn’t even have to consult Karen. His universe number seems like an important number to hold onto.

“That’s what I thought.”

A moment later a portal bursts into existence in the middle of the yard.

“I calibrated it to you so it’ll open up in the place where your energy signature is strongest. For me and Miles it’s our bedrooms so it’ll probably be the same for you.”

“Cool.”

He still pulls on his mask, just in case. As long as it doesn’t dump them in the middle of traffic or something it should be fine. Maybe he’ll end up at Delmar’s. Then he could get a sandwich.

His stomach clenches painfully. He can’t remember the last time he was this hungry. He’s lightheaded but it’s fine. Everything’s totally under control.

He steps up to the portal but stops before going through and says, “Just to reiterate, Mr. Stark is nice. He just probably won’t seem like it.”

“Go,” Gwen says and shoves him through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday! Are you ready for next week? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I'm so excited!
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments!! It's wild that there's more comments than kudos on this fic lol I mean, half of them are me but still. You guys are the best!!


	10. Next time, read the fine print

~ **Harley** ~

May’s been here; there’s fresh jello in the mini-fridge. He happily pulls it out and digs a spoon straight in. Mmm raspberry this time.

He takes the container with him to his workbench.

He took a break from nanotech last night and gave his suit a minor upgrade. Mostly, he needed to do something he’s good at or he was going to start breaking things. Nanotech is _not_ coming easily. The upgrade took longer than he expected resulting in an accidental all-nighter, his second in a row.

But he should be fine. He’s got his caffeine tablets and both the fridge in the kitchen and the mini-fridge in the lab are well-stocked with energy drinks. He was kind of surprised that Pepper didn’t tranq him the second he went over the 30-hour mark but he guesses he’s been on the straight and narrow long enough that she doesn’t feel like she has to babysit him anymore.

He feels guilty taking advantage of her trust but what else is he supposed to do? His satellite’s range may be impressive, but it’s not infinite. Soon they’ll have searched everything they can reach and then what? If they don’t find Peter in one of the last few sections, what do they do next? What’s their plan? They can’t give up. There has to be something else they can do.

All he can think of is that wizard.

He’ll wait until they finish searching the last section, but then he’s going to the wizard to find out _exactly_ what he knows. He’s got his address scribbled on a sticky note in his wallet. By his math, they should finish the last section mid-morning tomorrow and that seems like as good a time as any to visit a crazy wizard.

If the wizard really is crazy then he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Maybe that’ll be when he’ll finally breaks down. He’s trying not to think about it.

During testing, his right gauntlet was acting a little finicky so he pulls out a screwdriver and gets to work rooting out the problem. He’s not sure how much has passed by the time he tightens the final screw putting the gauntlet back together. He examines it closely to make sure everything was put back on exactly right and then sets aside the screwdriver and looks up at the holoscreen.

He loses himself in the dark. His brain is too overworked to stay lucid for long. That’s okay with him. It’s not like there’s anything worth missing anyway. His days have been filled with monotony ever since the media latched onto Peter’s disappearance and refused to let go. They’re still speculating, despite the press conference Pepper called together and Dr. Cho’s insistence that Peter is fine but is on bed rest after a particularly nasty bout of mono.

Apparently, no one bought it.

He can’t even take comfort in perfecting his schoolwork anymore. Will it matter? Is Peter going to come back? Will they ever find him? This is impossible. Finding him is impossible. He can’t—

There’s a weird noise behind him on the other side of the lab. He almost doesn’t register it. He almost doesn’t care enough to turn and look but when he does, his heart stops dead in his chest.

A splotchy black portal is hovering in midair at the back of the room making a hissing spitting noise like static and bright bubbles of color boil out of it only to vanish before hitting the floor. It looks exactly like what Miles described Peter going through.

His brain kicks into high gear as adrenaline floods through him. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. get Tony!”

His gauntlet is still on the workbench next to him. He slams it onto his hand and holds it palm out towards the portal.

The portal contracts and someone falls out, stumbling erratically—someone wearing one of Peter’s Spider-Man suits.

He jumps back but keeps the gauntlet trained on the person as his heart strangles him.

Is it him? It _has_ to be him. _Please be him._

The person knocks over a chair. “Oh, crap.”

It’s Peter’s voice.

Hope springs in his chest and his eyes feel warm and wet, but he can’t trust it. Not yet. Not after weeks of searching. He wouldn’t survive the disappointment.

“Peter?” he croaks.

The person in the spidey suit swivels on their heels to face him, dropping the chair in the process. “Harley! Oh my God, you would not believe—,”

“Stop. Just… stop.”

The spidey suit person stops in their tracks.

“Harley?” They pull off their mask and it’s _Peter._ It’s his face crumpled with concern as he asks, “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he snaps. His whole body is trembling now but he keeps his palm out. He needs to make sure this is actually Peter. _His_ Peter. He wracks his brain. “What’s…” A memory pops into his head and he latches onto it. “What’s Tony’s favorite cereal?”

Peter blinks at him, confusion marring his face before a spark of understanding lights his eyes. “Oh, I know this one! Ummm shit, how did you say it? Uh, Mr. Stark doesn’t eat anything as lowbrow as cereal? No. As common as cereal? Pedestrian! It was pedest—,”

Harley crashes into him, nearly tripping over the chair as he throws his arms around Peter and holds him as tight as he can. Vaguely he registers another person arrive through the portal and tumble over the toppled chair and onto the floor with a crash.

“For fuck’s sake,” a feminine voice groans.

“Sorry Gwen,” Peter says, voice muffled by Harley’s shoulder. He pats his back. “Uh hi. I missed you too.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, not letting go. He’s not sure if he can. “What _is_ that thing? Who the hell is that? You were just… You were gone. We looked… God, Peter we looked everywhere and we couldn’t— You were just _gone.”_

“I’m sorr—,”

The doors open with a whoosh. “Peter?!”

Harley starts to pull back from Peter to face Tony but he’s already slamming into him from behind and crushing him and Peter together in a bear hug that cracks their skulls together painfully.

“Ow! Fuckin’ get _off,_ Tony!”

Tony releases them and practically shoves him out of the way as he grabs Peter by the shoulders. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Okay, so—,”

Yet another person falls out of the portal and crashes into the girl and they both go sprawling amidst a variety of shouts and expletives.

“Why does this keep happening?” the new one moans.

He does a double-take. Maybe his lack of sleep is getting to him but they look… weird. Like animations come to life. Like a couple of cartoon characters stepped out of the TV. They’re suited up in suits like Peter’s but one is white and pink while the other is red and black.

Is he hallucinating all of this? Is there even a portal in here right now? Is Peter even here? Maybe he should have gone to sleep last night after all.

He can’t deal with this. If it’s not real, he doesn’t want to know.

“Who— _What_ are these people?” Tony asks, glancing at the pile of people on the floor for the barest second, somewhat assuaging Harley’s fear that it’s all in his head, before turning back to Peter.

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story, Mr. Stark,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand holding his mask. “Well, not long I guess, but it’s a lot to take in. Maybe we should like, sit down.” He glances at the workbenches and does a double-take when he sees the big holoscreen showing their attempts to find him in space. “Whoa, that’s new. What is this?”

“I told you we looked everywhere,” Harley says.

“We couldn’t track your suit anywhere on Earth so we thought maybe space,” Tony says quickly. “But tell us where—,”

“Wait, holy shit,” Peter fights his way out of Tony’s grasp and moves towards the holoscreen, gawking. “You’re telling me I’m looking at _space_ right now? How did you even have time for all of this?”

“How did we—,” Harley stares at him. He knows Peter doesn’t think about his own safety a lot of the time. ‘ _Blatant disregard’_ is the term Tony is fond of. Point is, it’s easy for him to get caught up in helping other people. So easy that he forgets to take care of himself. He forgets to check in with the people waiting back home.

But he’s being _far_ too blase about this whole thing. Something isn’t adding up.

“Peter,” he says, “it’s been _weeks.”_

Peter stops dead and stares at him. “What? No, it’s only been… It’s been like, a day. Not even a full 24 hours.”

Harley shakes his head, struck mute by the sudden closing of his throat, and the tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. Less than a day? How is that even possible? How did Peter get off so light? Not that he wants him to suffer but _shit._ Less than a day?

“It’s been 16 days for us, kiddo,” Tony says, voice rough. “We were barely holding it together.”

Peter’s eyes bug out of his head. “Wait, for real? What about Aunt May? Queens? Oh my God, crime is gonna be through the roof.”

Guilt swoops through his gut. He hadn’t given Queens a second thought. “I—I’m sorry.”

Peter doesn’t seem to hear him. “I’m gonna be so behind in classes. _16 days?”_ He sways on his feet.

He lurches forward and grabs Peter’s forearms to steady him as panic thunders under his skin. “Woah there, princess. Don’t go swooning on me.” Is this a side effect of traveling through the portal? Is he sick? Did his atoms get scrambled? His DNA is already all screwy, maybe this was too much.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Peter says quickly and sure enough the wave of dizziness seems to have passed and he’s steady on his feet again. Harley doesn’t let go.

“What was that?” Tony demands, looking Peter over with a critical eye.

“Nothing, nothing! It’s just ah… It’s been a while since I’ve had real food.”

_Are you kidding me?_

He supposes he shouldn’t complain. At least this is something he can fix, he’s good at fixing, and has lots of experience fixing.

“How long?” he demands, shoving him onto a stool.

“Uhh. The last time I ate real food? Yesterday? Or two weeks ago, I guess,” he adds bitterly. “Has it really been 16 days? Are you guys pranking me?”

Neither dignifies the second-half of his commentary with a response.

“Goddammit, Parker. I don’t know how you’re still alive. You have no self-preservation,” he mutters like a fucking hypocrite.

“I _tried_ to eat! Everything tasted like paper! I don't think it had any nutritional value for me.”

“Dude,” one of the cartoon people says flatly.

Peter pulls an apologetic face and says to the cartoon person, “Sorry.”

Harley ignores them, worry spiking anew. “What are you _talking_ about?” Paper? _What?_ He puts the back of his hand against Peter's forehead, forgetting it’s encased in his gauntlet.

“I'm not sick,” Peter says, pushing Harley's hand away. “Everything there was like being in a comic book. It was trippy but also like, the coolest thing ever.”

Harley stares at him, absently striping off his gauntlet and tossing it aside. He trades a glance with Tony who looks concerned but also curious and glances at the cartoon people watching them across the lab.

Peter huffs impatiently. “Well if you’re not going to sit down I guess I’ll just tell you. The multiverse is real and that portal I went through took me to an alternate universe where there are other spider people like me!”

He’s practically bouncing in his seat as he says it and his eyes are lit from within with excitement and Harley wishes he could get excited with him. Two weeks ago he would have, but now he’s just so, _so_ tired.

“Technically, only one spider person,” one of the cartoon people says. The black one. “We were just visiting.”

He can see Tony revving up, ready to get on Peter’s level and nerd out, but he holds up a hand before can get a word out and says, “Food first and then you’re gonna tell us about this multiverse stuff.”

Peter smiles at him as his stomach growls audibly. “Deal. I’m starving.”

He shakes his head.

_Don’t nag him like a hypocrite. Don’t nag him like a hypocrite. Don’t._

The cartoon people must deem them worthy of trust because they pull off their masks, first the pink and white one to reveal a blonde asymmetrical bob and bright green eyes and then the black one.

 _“Miles?”_ Harley almost chokes on his spit. His eyes land on the black and red spider suit on his cartoon body. “What the fu—,”

“Not our Miles,” Peter interrupts.

Well, _duh._ He shoots him an incredulous look and then looks back at the boy who looks exactly like Miles except older, his hair no longer fluffy but shaved close to his scalp, with better posture, a kickass spider suit, and, oh yeah, he’s fucking animated. It takes conscious effort to keep from going cross-eyed looking at them.

_Fuckin’ multiverse._

“Do you guys…” He sighs. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ “D’you guys have crazy metabolisms too? Will you even be able to eat our food?”

They trade glances and shrug.

“Yes to the metabolism part,” Not-Our-Miles says, “and we haven’t had a problem eating in alternate universes before.”

Harley sighs. “Great,” he mutters to himself. “So that’s what? 3,400 calories per meal times three is 10,200. Two cups of spaghetti is roughly 500 calories... _Fuck,_ that’s so much spaghetti.” He rubs the knuckle of his thumb into his forehead where he’s had a stress headache for at least a week. Or maybe it’s from the lack of sleep? Hard to say.

At normal volume, he says, “I’m gonna have to raid the Avengers’ kitchen. Maybe they’ve got some meatballs or bread or something.”

He catches Peter watching him with a fond smile. “What? You don’t get to look at me like that right now.” He jabs a finger at him. “I’m pissed at you.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” he squawks.

“You disappeared for two weeks and scared me half to death!”

“On accident!”

“Whatever. You're sticking with me. I don't care what the rest of you do.”

“Umm, I do,” Tony says. “Get out of my lab. Don’t touch anything, and oh yeah, get out of my lab.”

“Yeesh,” the girl grumbles. “Thought you said your Tony Stark was nice.”

Harley snorts and Peter quickly tries to explain, “I swear he is! He just has a thing about strangers in his lab and—,”

“He's a grumpy old man,” Harley says. “You can ignore him.”

 _“No,”_ Tony says, emphatically. “Ignoring me is not an option. Everybody out!”

“We don't want to stay in here with your weird glowy space screens anyway,” the girl (did Peter call her Gwen earlier?) says.

“I wouldn’t mind staying,” Not-Our-Miles says under his breath as he cranes his neck to get a good look at the Iron Spider suit glowing faintly in its case on the wall.

“Nope! Out!”

~*~

He might feel bad later when the Avengers find half their food missing but ordering take out won’t kill them.

He tosses the pilfered veggies in the freezer and makes a mental note to remember to get them back out later and then shoos Peter away from the stove. Half-listening to him chat with the other “Spider People” at the table, his hands settle into the familiar rhythm of preparing a meal while his mind wanders. He never thought of cooking as something he’d enjoy, but over the past few months he’s found there’s a peace to be had in cooking for others. He hadn’t realized that was something he’s inherited from his ma until he started cooking for Peter.

He sets out three different pots to boil a metric fuck-ton of spaghetti and a fourth pot to heat the sauce and meatballs. Just as he’s about to add the spaghetti to the boiling pots, a wave of exhaustion crests over him leaving him kind of dizzy.

He’s not even alarmed by it anymore. It’s just part of his day.

He adds the spaghetti to the pots and then pulls the bottle of caffeine tablets out of his pocket and pops a few in his mouth. They’re gross and chalky but he grabs an open energy drink that’s been in the fridge for... at least a few days now… and washes them down and then he’s fine. He wouldn’t say he feels energized but he no longer feels like he’s going to keel over and honestly, that’s the best he’s been able to manage for a while now.

“Umm, what did you just do?” Peter asks.

He grabs a spoon and gives the sauce and meatballs a stir.

 _“Harley,”_ Peter says impatiently.

_Oh he’s talking to me._

“Hmm?” He looks up and finds Peter and the spider people all looking at him with varying levels of concern. He’s not sure when Tony left the room.

“What did you just take?” Peter asks slowly.

Harley blinks at him as his sluggish brain struggles to come up with a lie. He opens his mouth with nothing in his head then opts for the truth. “It was just a couple of caffeine tablets. No big deal. I’ve had some late nights recently.”

Peter narrows his eyes and seems to take in Harley’s appearance for the first time. _Shit._

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. when was the last time Harley slept?”

“Fri, don’t—,”

“Harley’s been awake for 49 hours and 36 minutes.”

He blinks. That’s a long time. “Is that a new record?”

“Boss holds the record at 76 hours and 19 minutes.”

“I meant a personal record but drag me I guess,” he mutters, petulantly stirring the meatballs.

 _“Harley,”_ Peter says. “Why are you— Sit down, oh my God.”

“I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes. “I haven’t even started micro-sleeping yet.”

“Oh my God. F.R.I.D.A.Y., when’s Mr. Stark going to be back with Pepper?”

“Where’s Pepper?” Harley asks before F.R.I.D.A.Y. can respond. Now that he’s thinking about it, it’s strange that she’s not already here. He’s still kind of shocked she hasn’t forced him to bed by now.

“Where she normally is at eight in the morning on a Friday,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says. “She’s in a meeting for another half an hour.”

“Seriously, why did Tony program you to have such an attitu— Wait. Eight in the morning?” he asks, staring blankly at the pasta dinner cooking on the stove. Then the day factors in. “Hold on. Did you say Friday?”

“I did.”

“Shit! I’ve got class in an hour!”

Peter catches him by the wrist as he turns to rush from the room. “You’re not going,” he says.

“No, I have to go,” Harley insists. “I can’t miss chemistry. I’m finally keeping up and we have a test— No, that was… That was yesterday. Today is…” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to force his brain into some kind of order. He’s all out of sorts with Peter’s sudden return. Not that he’s complaining, but his routine is in shambles and he’s having a hard time keeping it all together. “Today’s Calculus and… Design… Right?”

Peter guides him to a chair at the table next to the spider girl (was it Gwen?) and pushes him into it. “You’re not going. You’re going to sit here while I finish making breakfast and then you’re going to eat and then you’re going to bed.”

“I just took something like 286 milligrams of caffeine. I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping.”

“We’ll see,” Peter says, mouth set in a determined line like he’ll knock him unconscious if he has to. He walks over to the stove and stands there for a second looking lost before he grabs the tongs Harley had been using to break up the spaghetti and stirs the meatballs.

“Okay nope.” His chair scrapes the floor and he strides across the room to pluck the tongs from his hand but Peter dodges away, flinging sauce in an arc that splatters across the wall and cupboards as he waves them away from Harley’s grabby hands.

“Go sit down. I can do it,” Peter insists.

“Yeah, _badly._ Give me those. I don’t need a full eight hours of sleep to make supper. Uh, breakfast? Food.”

He tries to snatch the tongs again but Peter dances just out of reach. He lunges and nearly faceplants after tripping on the rug in front of the sink.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Peter says, pointing the tongs at Harley. Sauce drips to the floor. “You can hardly stay standing!”

“That was _your_ fault. Whatever. It’s time for the garlic bread to go in anyway. Use the _spoon_ to stir the meatballs, meathead.”

Peter rolls his eyes and tosses the tongs into the sink before picking up the spoon and doing as he’s told.

Harley’s eye twitches.

“I wasn’t done with those. I still need them for the spaghetti,” he grumbles. He turns on the oven and drags a few baking sheets out of the cupboard and sets them on the counter.

“I’ll rinse them off. It’ll be fine.” He eyes Harley’s baking sheets and says. “I can do the bread. You should sit down.”

“First of all, I’m fine. Second, no you can’t.”

Peter shoots him a dirty look. “The instructions are on the box.”

“Sure, but they’re only factoring in one loaf. We’re doing three at once so you’ve got to adjust to a lower temperature for a longer bake time or else you’re going to end up with gross bread. Would you have thought to lower the temperature 25 degrees and extend the bake time by twenty percent? No, you fucking wouldn’t and we would have been stuck with gross bread.”

Peter’s grinning at him. “You really let the math nerd out when you’re super sleep deprived, huh?” he says, leaning his hip against the counter. “I dig it.”

“I’m acting the same as always. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

Peter laughs and Harley has to stop what he’s doing and take a moment to collect himself as something swells up within him and threatens to tear him to the ground. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hear that laugh again. He breathes out for eight seconds, blinks twice, and then refocuses on getting the bread in the oven.

“Are you stirring that sauce?” he asks when he feels like he can speak without falling apart.

“Oh shit.”

When the elevator dings some time later, they’ve only just finished getting the food on the table.

“Hey Mr. Stark, you’re just in time for breakfast,” Peter calls.

“Peter?” Pepper’s voice calls. She rounds the corner and her eyes fill with tears as soon as she sees him.

“Oh hey Pepper. D’you want some spaghe—,”

Pepper cuts off his question with a hug.

“Oh man, I’m getting all the hugs today,” Peter says, hugging her back.

Tony rounds the corner and ruffles Peter’s hair as he passes him and grabs a slice of garlic bread off the table.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Pepper says. She pulls back and puts her hands on his shoulders and looks him up and down. “You _are_ okay, aren’t you? No secret injuries?”

“Nope!” Peter responds with just a touch too much cheer. No one else seems to notice.

“Good.” Pepper kisses his forehead and turns to face the spider people. “Hi, I’m Pepper. Thank you for bringing Peter back to us.”

He shoots Peter a sharp glance behind Pepper’s back as she’s speaking.

Peter widens his eyes slightly in response as though pleading for his silence.

“I’m Gwen and this is Miles. Honestly, ma’am, it was our fault he was missing in the first place.”

He rolls his eyes and Peter brushes the back of his hand like a promise to tell him later when they’re alone.

“Your fault,” Not-Our-Miles corrects under his breath.

What’s this? His eyes narrow.

“It was an accident,” Peter quickly interjects. “She was aiming for Other Miles and accidentally sent the portal to our Miles and I accidentally went through it.”

“And she didn’t send you back right away because…?” Tony trails off expectantly.

Peter hesitates, guilt coloring his features in an all too familiar way.

Harley closes his eyes, wrestling with the black wave that threatens to bury him. He could have come back right away. He doesn’t need to hear Peter’s confirmation to know it’s the truth. With the difference in time passage, he might have only been missing for a few hours. But he didn’t. He chose to stay and he was gone without a trace for nearly 16 days. _16 days._

It could have all been avoided but Peter _chose_ to stay.

He breathes in for four seconds, holds it for seven, and then exhales for eight. When he opens his eyes again, he’s over it.

Tony isn’t.

“—people that care about you and deserve a little consideration before you—,”

“Back off, Tony,” he tells him.

Peter’s head is ducked, chin to his chest, and Gwen and Not-Our-Miles look deeply uncomfortable.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony bursts, rounding on Harley. “You’ve been a wreck for the past two weeks, worried sick and working your ass off to find him, but you’re going to let it go? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony blusters for a moment and then pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. “Why?” he asks, tone still sharp but no longer raised.

“Because it’s Peter.” He looks at Peter and Peter looks up to meet his gaze. “Someone needed help, right? They needed Spider-Man.”

Peter glances at the spider people at the table and then back to Harley. “Yeah.”

Harley shrugs. “That’s that then. It sucked for us but…” He shrugs again. This is the lot they chose when they chose Peter. He’s Spider-Man and this is what Spider-Man does. He helps people, even if it costs him and even if it costs the people closest to him.

Tony doesn’t have an immediate response for that so Harley takes advantage of his silence and points a stern finger at Peter and says, “You. Eat.”

Peter stares at him for a second before he breaks into a fond grin and turns up his nose and says, “I don’t need you to mother me.”

He heads for the table nonetheless.

“Apparently you do, Mr. Everything-I-Ate-Was-Basically-Paper,” he gripes, following him and dropping into the seat beside him.

“Thanks, kettle. You’re grumpy when you’re sleep-deprived. I kinda like it.”

He rolls his eyes and picks up his plate and starts piling it with pasta. The action seems to break a stasis that’s been holding the spider people in check and they start grabbing bread and dishing meatballs onto their plates.

“Y’all didn’t have to wait for us to finish with our little domestic.” He trades his plate for the empty one in front of Peter and loads it with pasta too.

“Now he tells us,” Not-Our-Miles complains, shoving two meatballs into his mouth at once.

“Shut up we were being polite,” Gwen says, crunching into a slice of garlic bread. “Mmm, you were dead on with the bread.”

“Thanks,” he says, brightening a bit at the compliment as Peter dishes sauce and meatballs onto their plates. He grabs several slices of bread to share between them.

“I’m feeling ignored,” Tony announces.

Pepper laughs and pats Tony’s chest. “It’s not easy being the one left at home to wonder, is it? Now maybe you’ll have a little more sympathy when it’s me railing at you after Iron Man disappears to be a hero.”

“That’s different.”

“Hmm no.” Pepper kisses his cheek and then the top of Harley’s head. “Do I need to tell you you’re past your limit?” she asks quietly. Not that it matters. Half the people here have enhanced hearing.

“No,” he says, guilt settling in his gut. So she did notice. “I’m going to sleep soon. Promise.”

She hums and then says in a pleasant tone, “I’m throwing out the energy drinks. All of them.”

He slumps in his seat. “That’s fair.”

She pats his shoulder and then looks over the spread on the table with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a lot of carbs for first thing in the morning.”

“There are vegetables,” he says defensively as Tony slinks into the chair next to him, sulking, and pulls out his phone.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Is garlic bread a vegetable now?”

“Oh man that would be the best,” Peter says, biting into a slice piled high with spaghetti. “I would be so freaking nutritioned it’d probably give me superpowers. Like, new superpowers. Like I’d always be alert and focused.”

“I think you’re just describing what happens when you get a regular eight hours of sleep,” Not-Our-Miles says.

Meanwhile, Harley is painstakingly taking inventory of the food items on the table. Spaghetti… Bread… Sauce… Meatballs…

“Aw fuck. I forgot the veggies.”

He shoves back his chair but Pepper squeezes his shoulder and says, “I’ll get them. You eat. May’s on her way and it’ll be nice if we can have this all…” She looks around at the sauce splatters on the cupboards and floor, “cleaned up before she gets here.”

“I’m so dead,” Peter moans. “She’s going to gut me over the sacrificial altar and then display my head on a spike.”

“Enjoy your last meal,” Harley says.

“Was she…” Peter looks up at him with worried eyes. “Was she okay while I was gone?”

“Freakishly okay.”

Peter frowns. “Should we be worried?”

Chewing thoughtfully, he says, “No, but… let’s keep an eye on her. Spend plenty of time with her this week. Text her when you can. That kind of thing.”

“I invited her to stay with us through Thanksgiving,” Pepper says from the microwave. She sets the cook time and the microwave hums to life. “She’s stronger than you think.”

“I know she’s strong,” he says, feeling irrationally offended, “but she’s only human. Just because she can handle it on her own doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can to help.”

Pepper holds up her hands in surrender and says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. All I’m saying is she doesn’t need you boys hovering.”

They fall into silence until Pepper sets the veggies on the table and they take turns scooping spoonfuls onto their plates.

“Did anyone tell Miles that Peter’s back?” Harley asks, the thought suddenly striking him. “Our Miles I mean.”

“I did,” Pepper says. “I also got ahold of Ned, MJ, and your mom. She wants you to call when things settle down, by the way. After you get some sleep maybe,” she adds with a pointed lift to her eyebrows.

“Aw crap.” He hopes Pepper didn’t say too much about how he’s been handling things lately. He’s not ready to face a reaming from his mother.

Peter holds up a slice of garlic bread as though to make a toast. “Here’s to last meals.”

“It was a good life.” He taps his bread against Peter’s. “At least that one day.”

“From about two to two-thirty,” they say in unison.

His chest aches and his eyes sting as he crams his mouth full.

He didn’t think he’d get this back.

Gwen puts down her fork. “You are _not_ quoting VeggieTales right now.”

“Hey,” Peter says, tone serious as he jabs his garlic bread at her, “They’ve got some quality jokes if you can ignore all the Come to Jesus stuff.”

“This is more insight into Peter B.’s personality than I ever wanted,” Not-Our-Miles says.

 _Peter B?_ Who’s Peter A? Is there a whole alphabetical ranking of Peter’s across the universe? Multiverse? Whatever.

They finish their meal, veggies included, and then scramble to clear the table and clean up before May arrives. They get pretty close. At about the time the elevator chimes and May sashays into the living room, all but the dishes have been cleaned up and he’s ready for a break from all the people crowded into his kitchen anyway.

“May!” Peter exclaims and hurries out of the kitchen to throw himself into her arms. Even before he’d gone missing it had been a while since he’d seen her last. She hugs him tightly and they murmur to each other things he’s is too far away to hear.

Thankfully, everyone follows Peter into the living room, leaving only him and Tony in the kitchen. Tony hasn’t moved from his spot at the table and is doing something on his phone. With a sigh, he collapses beside him as the introductions begin in the living room.

“I don’t know about you but I’m ready for that nap I was promised,” Harley says. ‘Promised’ might not be the right word. Threatened, maybe.

Tony grunts and brings his phone closer to his face, sliding his fingers to zoom in.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously. He assumed Tony was brooding after getting shut down by him and Pepper and he’s surprised he isn’t hovering over Peter, making sure he doesn’t disappear on him again. Instead, he’s in here. On his phone...

He’s up to something.

“Karen uploaded a ton of data about that portal to F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he says, briefly showing Harley his screen. He gets a glimpse of graphs and numbers and sits up straighter.

“Yeah?” Harley says. They’ve got Peter back so it’s not like they need to figure out that portal anymore but it’d be neat as fuck if they did. Maybe they can replicate it or apply the technology to something else.

“Mhmm.” Tony taps his finger against the side of his phone thoughtfully. “I’m gonna head to the lab. Get a bigger look at all this. Wanna come?”

He hesitates. He’s interested. He wants to. But he can’t be that far away from Peter right now. He’s afraid. Afraid he’ll blink and find himself staring at the underside of the mural in the lab having just woken up on the futon, alone and scared.

Tony must see the indecision on his face because his expression softens. “Maybe after your nap then. You and Spider-Brat can come check out my progress and lend those brains of yours to the cause. Hopefully, the spider gang will be shuttled home by then.”

Harley takes the out. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.” He stands and puts a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Harley blinks up at him. “For what?” He hasn’t done anything.

“Do you want a list or something?” Tony jokes, squeezing his shoulder once before putting his hands in his pockets. “All of it. Everything. You pulled through. He’s home safe, so now we can hang up crisis mode and find our new normal.”

New Normal. The phrase eases the knot in his chest. He doesn’t have to find a way back to how he was before. They can make a new normal… but will Peter _want_ a new normal? What if he wants things to stay how they were?

“Don’t hide in here too long,” Tony continues when he doesn’t respond. “You’ll worry Pep.”

“I won’t.”

He allows himself to stay seated at the table for ten seconds after Tony leaves and then forces himself to his feet. Now that he has a big heavy meal filling his stomach, he’s more tired than ever but he walks over to the sink and starts filling it with soap and hot water. He could use the dishwasher but he needs something to do with his hands as he listens to Peter and the others tell May about the alternate universe. Some of it is new to him (Chameleon? This Peter B person in jail? Grizz?) and some of it Peter has already mentioned.

He busies himself with the dishes until May says his name.

“Where’s Harley? I brought him something.”

He’s already drying his hands with the dishtowel when Peter pokes his head into the kitchen. He spots the sink full of water and steps fully into the room with a frown. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harley says reflexively.

Peter’s frown deepens. “Don’t lie,” he says softly. “You’ve been off all morning. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

He takes a careful breath and shrugs. “I will be.” At Peter’s doubtful expression he adds, “I promise.”

“You’ll talk to me about it?” Peter asks hesitantly.

“Of course. I just… I think I’m gonna be a mess for a little while.”

A soft smile ticks up the corner of Peter’s lips. “That’s okay. I’m a mess all the time so it’s only fair you get to be sometimes too.”

He sets aside the towel and as soon as he steps toward him, Peter opens his arms and gathers him against his chest. He leans into him more than he normally would but Peter doesn’t falter. He tucks his face against Peter's neck and breathes deeply. He smells like home. He hadn’t realized that the sheets had stopped smelling like him until he’d already forgotten what that smell was. Tears prick his eyes but he fights them back.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, voice raw.

“I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m… I’m okay.”

He tightens his grip. He just wants to hold on until this feels real.

“I’m really glad you’re back.” It’s all he can trust himself to say. Anything deeper, anything that’s been plaguing him for weeks is going to uncork the bunghole and then everything will come spilling out and neither of them are ready to deal with the mess.

“Me too. I thought about you the whole time I was there. I wanted to send you a message to tell you I was okay because I knew you’d be worried but I couldn’t and then I thought if we were fast then it wouldn’t be too bad but then—,”

“It’s okay,” Harley tells him. He rests his forehead on Peter’s shoulder and repeats, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

He wishes that didn’t feel like a lie. But… if he can pretend long enough, then eventually things _will_ be okay. He already made it through the hardest part. He just needs to keep going and make it through this next hard part and then hopefully the part after that will be easier.

He counts to ten and then pulls himself back together.

“Earlier you lied about being hurt,” he says, straightening up and taking half a step back so he can properly see Peter roll his eyes.

“I swear I’m fine. I got a little banged up in the big fight with— Did you hear everything we were telling May?”

“Yeah. Sounds pretty fucked up.”

“It was insane,” Peter says with a wide grin, eyes alight. “But yeah, Grizz hit me with a dumpster. The headache should fade soon now that I’ve eaten.”

He hums. Hit with a dumpster by a man in a bear costume. Just another day as your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“So what’d May bring me?” he asks instead of touching any of that.

“Let’s go find out.”

Peter smiles up at him and takes his hand, tugging him into the living room. Everyone turns and looks at them as they enter the room but Peter isn’t fazed by the attention and steers him over to where May is perched on the armrest of the sofa talking to Pepper.

Harley’s eyes latch onto the Tupperware in her lap. “Is that more jello?” he blurts.

“Hello to you too,” she says, smiling as she holds out the Tupperware for him to take. “Orange this time.”

“Ooo,” Peter says, making grabby hands at the container.

He pulls it out of his reach. “Back off, it’s mine.” Then he says to May, “You have perfect timing. I just finished the raspberry.”

“I know my boy’s needs,” she says, ruffling his hair. Then she points a stern finger at him and says, “Share.”

“Yeah okay,” he grumbles shooting a sour look at Peter who is looking between Harley and May with a befuddled expression. His excitement dims. “Now that the webbed menace is back I guess you don’t need a stand-in boy anymore.”

“No take-backsies!” She narrows her eyes. “We made an agreement.”

He frowns. “That was while Peter was—,”

“I didn’t specify a time frame. You’re my boy forever whether you like it or not. Next time, read the fine print.”

A slow smile curls his lips as he says, “Hey, Aunt May?”

She looks delighted at the title. “Yes, sweetie?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Peter looks back and forth between the two of them and then demands, “Did you steal my aunt while I was gone? What the hell?”

Harley shrugs as he says, “Finders keepers, losers suck.”

Peter’s mouth drops open into an outraged gape. “Did you watch The Little Rascals without me too?!”

May laughs and it brightens the room. “Peter, entertain your guests. I’m going to help Harley with the kitchen.”

She hops off the armrest and makes for the kitchen.

“Uh, no you’re not.” Harley hurries after her with barely a backward glance at Peter who looks just as baffled as before. “You’re a guest and you didn’t even get to eat the meal. Mama’d whoop me if I had a guest cleanin’ up after me.”

May reaches the center of the kitchen and spins to face him as she says, “Family aren’t guests. Now get that jello in the fridge before it gets soft.”

“May,” Harley says, exasperated as he does as he’s told. He closes the fridge and turns only to find himself being captured in a hug.

“You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

Why do people keep saying that?

“I didn’t though,” he says, wiggling until she lets him go. He dodges around her and plucks a plate out of the sink and starts to scrub it. “He just… came back. I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not true.” She leans her hip against the counter beside him and says, “You didn’t give up. Maybe you didn’t save him but you made it through in one piece. Saving yourself still counts as something to be proud of.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. He keeps his head ducked over the sink, overwhelmed tears building behind his eyes and strangling his throat. He can’t let them come. Not yet. Not here where there are so many enhanced ears who’d hear. He swallows thickly and takes a breath and then he’s okay. He’s okay.

May places a hand on his back. “You have to let yourself feel it sometime, sweetie,” she says softly.

“I know. I will. I just… I gotta get through the day first and then… I think… I dunno. It’s gonna be ugly.”

“I know and that’s okay.” She pulls him into another hug and this time he drops the plate in the water and lets her, careful to keep his sudsy hands away from her top. “Talk to Peter. Don’t pretend with him, okay? When it’s just the two of you, don’t hide away how hard this was. Relationships thrive on honesty. Secrets only hurt.”

“Okay,” he says. He sniffs. “You’re gonna let yourself feel it too, right?”

May laughs lightly and squeezes him a little tighter. “I cried the whole way here.”

He pulls back. “May!”

She smiles at him, unrepentant. “I only had to pull over three times. It was fine.”

“Oh my God.” The Parker definition of the word ‘fine’ needs some serious revising.

“Then I spent half an hour downstairs with Happy waiting for the swelling around my eyes to go down. You know for a grumpy man he’s surprisingly sweet.”

Harley squints at her. “Gross. Don’t go for Happy.”

She laughs, light and free, and cups his face between her hands. “Aww pumpkin, it’s adorable that you think you get a say.” Then she spins around to stand at the sink.

“Oh come on,” he complains. “That’s my job.”

She quirks an eyebrow and hikes her sleeves up over her elbows before plunging her hands into the soapy water. “Now it’s mine. Go sit down with my nephew and listen to his stories about being in an alternate universe and if you start feeling sleepy, let yourself rest. You look terrible.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard.” He moves to the sink beside her and holds out a hand for the plate she just washed. “I’ll rinse and then we can both go out there.”

She squints at him. “Harley Keener, are you hiding?”

“Are you?” he fires back.

She smiles but this time it’s sad. “The multiverse is a lot to take in and cartoon people are sitting on the furniture. It’s a lot to adjust to… or maybe I’m just not cut out for this superhero life. What about you?”

Harley pulls in a breath and pushes it back out as he rinses the handful of silverware she passes him. “It was only a day for him. He’s… He’s the same and I’m not.”

May nods like she understands perfectly. “It’ll work out,” she promises. “What you two need is some alone time to talk it out. Or cry it out. Both.” She shrugs. “I’m glad he brought his new friends over because it makes it easier for me to see that he was taken care of while he was gone, but it does make it harder to get him on his own, doesn’t it?”

He nods, distracted.

Why _are_ the other spider people here? Peter didn’t need to bring them back with him. Surely, they could have opened the portal and sent him through and gotten back to their lives. There’s no reason for them to be here unless… Unless there is. Unless there’s spider business to be about. That has to be it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

What are they waiting for then? Are they just humoring them? Letting them dote on Peter before they slip out to take care of whatever it is they’re here for? Is Peter going with them?

Of course he is. He wouldn’t bench himself from taking care of his own universe.

He feels a little sick thinking of Peter leaving again so soon, but what did he expect? He’s still Spider-Man. He’s still got a responsibility to this city and it’s probably hurting after having him gone so long. He’ll probably be taking extra long patrols until he can get everything back on track.

It’s a miserable realization but he’s glad he had it now while he can take the time to process it and not later while watching Peter leap out a window.

They finish the dishes a little too quickly for his tastes but it’s easier to walk back into the living room with May at his side. When they enter the room they find everyone seated around the room with the title screen for The Little Rascals pulled up on the TV.

“Are you serious?” Harley asks as May laughs.

“What?” Peter crosses his arms. “It’s one of my favorites. I wanna watch it and apparently the movie only exists in our universe. They only have the cartoon. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for them.” He gestures at the spider people and although neither of them look super excited, they do look ready to relax and watch a film and not like they’re anxious to get on with their business.

Peter and Pepper are on either end of the couch while Gwen is curled up like a cat in an armchair and Not-Our-Miles is laying with his legs hanging over the armrest of the love seat.

May kisses the top of Peter’s head and sits down beside Pepper, leaving space for Harley between her and Peter. He considers the spot and how goddamn tired he is then decides to make himself at home. He sits down and swings his legs across May’s lap, putting his feet in Pepper’s lap and his head in Peter’s.

He sighs in satisfaction.

“Well hi,” Peter says, sounding pleasantly surprised at the arrangement as he tangles his fingers through his hair.

Harley hums happily and lets his eyes fall shut.

“Brave man putting yourself at our mercy,” May says.

Pepper laughs and Harley feels something brush the underside of his foot.

His eyes snap open and he jerks his foot away. “Hey hey! Touch with a purpose or don’t touch at all.”

“How am I just now finding out your feet are ticklish?” Peter says over May and Pepper’s giggles.

Harley glares up at him. “I don’t need freaky spider powers to kick your ass, Parker. Stay away from my feet.”

“Alright boys, no fighting,” Pepper says. “I believe we have a movie to watch. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

The lights dim and the opening credits begin to play.

He wraps his arms around Peter’s waist and wiggles until he’s comfortable. Peter drapes an arm against his back and keeps the other hand loosely threaded through his hair. He’s safe and warm and content for the first time in weeks. His heart aches with how relieved he is to have Peter in his arms again. To have Peter here and safe. He holds onto consciousness, basking in Peter’s soft caress but it doesn’t take long for the call of sleep to overwhelm him.

~*~

He foggily comes to as his legs are being shifted and May and Pepper are slipping from the couch. Peter remains solid and steady in his arms so he stretches out, falling asleep again almost instantly.

~*~

The second time he wakes up is to find a pillow where Peter should be and Peter himself hunched over him making shushing sounds and petting his hair.

“Pete?” he mumbles, his lips stiff as he tries to force them to articulate.

“I’m here,” Peter says.

He thinks he sees two shadowed figures behind him but his thousand-pound eyelids fall closed and it doesn’t matter.

“If uh…” He rubs his nose on the pillow to scratch an itch. “If you leave t’do your spidey stuff while ‘m sleepin’… make sure you’re back when I wake up, ‘kay? Don’t wanna think I dreamed you or somthin’.”

“Of course,” Peter says after a beat. “I’ll be here.”

“Thanks.” He’s drifting off again when another thought strikes him and he forces himself back to lucidity and says, “Your spider buddies. They got your back, right? They’re lookin’ out for you?”

“Yeah. They are,” Peter says softly. “You can trust them.”

He hums. “Trust you.”

Peter doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he smooths his hair out of his face and presses a kiss to his forehead and Harley tumbles into the inky black arms of sleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!! I'm in the US and results aren't all in yet, but hopefully this chapter is an icing on the cake kind of situation rather than binge eating an entire cake to fill the depression void situation.
> 
> Either way, YAY they're finally together again!!! Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	11. Associates of Spider-Man

~ **Peter** ~

Peter ignores the stares on his back as he presses a kiss to Harley’s forehead. He waits a moment to make sure he’s well and truly asleep before he steps back, thinking hard.

_Don’t wanna think I dreamed you or somthin’._

He’s right to be worried about Harley. He’s not okay, no matter how he pretends to be. He can’t leave him like this. What if he wakes up and he’s not back yet? He _promised._ He can’t break his trust like that and he can’t take the chance of causing him more suffering after he’s already been through the wringer for the past 16 days.

_16 days._

He still can’t believe it. What was only hours for him was _weeks_ here. Weeks of stress and worry and fear while he was off having the time of his life. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to swallow the guilt.

Maybe… he should stay behind?

No. This is his world, his universe, his responsibility. He has to see this through. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make a contingency plan. He eyeballs Harley’s phone where it’s poking out of his pocket and makes a decision, slipping it out.

“You guys mind taking a selfie with me?” he asks, tugging on his mask.

They trade a glance and shrug.

“Sure why not?” Other Miles says, pulling on his mask as well.

Ten minutes later they’re leaping off the landing pad and swinging out into the city while Harley sleeps soundly on the couch, his phone and its new lockscreen photo tucked loosely in his hand.

~*~

The supercollider isn’t there.

He’s not sure if he should worry about that or not. On one hand, yay! No Fab Five to face and no worries of their reality being inadvertently destroyed by Fisk’s impatience. On the other hand… how did Miles get his powers? If it wasn’t Fisk and Doc Ock then who? How? The unknown is more worrying than any number of known threats.

A quick Google confirms that in this universe, Vanessa is still alive and Richard hasn’t even been born yet. Fisk has no reason to commission Doc Ock to build the supercollider and apparently Doctor _Otto_ Octavius doesn’t even work at Alchemax anyway. He started his own company, Octavius Industries.

He hopes that means he won’t go dark-side like his alternate universe counterpart.

“So now what?” Other Miles asks. “We just go home?”

“You still want to meet my Miles, right? He should be out of school soon. You wanna kill some time and help me find where I stashed my backpack? It was around here somewhere I’m pretty sure…”

They’re in the middle of searching alley number three when, apropos of nothing, Gwen says, “Harley seems nice.”

Peter pokes his head behind the dumpster and lets out a victory cry. There, a sad sopping mess without a hint of webbing in sight after 16 days (16 days!) in the elements, sits his backpack.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

“He stood up to Iron Man for you,” Other Miles says with a hint of awe in his tone. “I would’ve pissed myself.”

He laughs lightly. “Yeah well, he’s had plenty of practice. He’s known Mr. Stark since he was like ten or something.”

“How does that work?” Gwen asks. “He’s got that accent. I figured he’s from Alabama or something.”

“Tennessee. There was a whole… thing. Did you guys have the Mandari— Aw beans. My chem book is totally ruined. Harley’s gonna give me so much crap. This is like the fifth one.”

There’s a soft noise behind him at the mouth of the alley and then a voice says, “Uh hi, you’re not vigilantes, are you? You should really leave it to the professionals like Daredevil or—,”

“Spider-Man?” Peter supplies, turning to face the speaker.

The speaker is in shadow but even so, he can tell they’re wearing something very form-fitting. Something like his suit.

“Exactly!” The speaker puts a hand to his chest. “Or uh… _associates_ of Spider-Man.”

Hold on.

He takes a step forward to get a better look and then stops in his tracks.

The speaker startles. _“Pe—_ I mean, Spidey?”

 _“Miles?”_ Peter asks, stunned. He’s wearing a suit eerily similar to Other Miles’s. So similar the hairs on his arms stand up and take notice. “What are you— What?”

“¡Ay Dios mio! Don’t get mad, okay?” He wrings his hands as he steps closer, his body language hunched in on himself whereas before his shoulders had been thrown back and his voice pitched low.

Yeesh, he’d forgotten how much posturing he did when he was younger so he didn’t stand out as a child.

“I just… You were gone and no one was patrolling and Mr. Stark and Harley were single-minded focused on finding you so—,”

“Woah, hey. I’m not mad. How could I be mad? I’m just… holy shit. You look awesome! I… Holy shit.”

“Thanks,” Miles says weakly. “You sure you’re not mad? I’ve been telling everyone you’re on vacation.”

He laughs and Miles stands a little straighter. “No, that’s great. You’ve been patrolling this whole time? Harley didn’t say anything.”

“I…” His shoulders hunch again. “He doesn’t know. I kind of went behind his back. D’you think he’ll be upset?”

“No way. He’s gonna be so impressed. I know I am.” Okay. Maybe he’s laying it on a bit thick. Which reminds him. “So uh, there’s someone I want you to meet…”

He steps to the side and gestures to Other Miles and Gwen. “Umm, this is Gwen and uh, Miles. Morales… from another universe.”

“Hey,” Other Miles says, “nice suit.”

“Uh, h-hi?” Miles turns to Peter, the eyes of his mask expanded to their full circumference. _“What is happening?”_ he hisses.

“We aren’t the only Spideys,” he says, buzzing with excitement.

“Not by a long shot,” Gwen says.

“Can I talk to you?” Other Miles asks. “Privately. There’s some stuff you should know.”

“Umm…” Miles glances again at Peter who nods. “Yeah? Okay.”

“Me and Gwen will hang,” Peter assures him and then shoots a web at the underside of the fire escape and dangles upside-down beneath it. “Come hang with me, Gwen.”

“You are such a dork,” she says but he thinks she’s finally warming up to him because she shoots her own web and together, they hang.

~*~

The sun is just touching the horizon when they climb through the window, Peter first with Miles, Other Miles, and Gwen crawling in behind him. They could have come back in via the landing pad but Captain Rogers was down there with Mr. Wilson and Sergeant Barnes and he didn’t want to risk them being embarrassing.

Thankfully, Harley is still passed out on the couch where he left him, phone now half-under his chest instead of in his hand as he breathes deep and slow.

He tugs off his mask and his fellow Spideys do the same. This is it. The end of the adventure. They all look at each other for a moment, at least for Peter, unsure of how to say goodbye.

Actually, Miles is kind of staring at Gwen _a lot._ Ahh to be young and so quickly enamored.

“So this is it then?” Peter asks after a beat. “You guys are going home?”

Gwen shrugs. “Yep.”

“It was incredible meeting you,” Miles rips his eyes away from Gwen to tell Other Miles.

“Same. It’s nice knowing it’s not all Peter Parkers out there. Us cool Spideys gotta represent,” Other Miles says, holding out his knuckles for a fist bump.

Miles obliges with a grin.

“Rude,” Peter mumbles.

“Aaaand I’m leaving,” Gwen says, pulling the portal box out of a hidden pocket in her suit.

“Aw don’t be like that,” Other Miles says. “I was counting you as a cool Spidey.”

“Whatever. I’ve still been off-world way too long. I’m starting to get that twitchy feeling.”

As she says it, a frisson of energy shakes her frame before she resolves back into shape.

“Oh that’s right. You were in Peter B.’s world for a bit before we got there.”

“How d’you think the time difference works going back?” Peter asks. “If two weeks passed while I was in Peter B.’s world and your worlds are pretty close time-wise to his, then are you gonna go back two weeks in the past?”

They all pause for a moment thoughtfully.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Harley’s muffled voice from the couch.

Peter whirls around to find that he hasn’t moved or so much as opened his eyes.

Regardless he continues, speaking half into the cushion, “If it’s the speed that time’s passin’ that’s different, it’s not gonna go backward. It’ll just be movin’ real slow.”

A grin curls his lips. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. You feeling better?”

Harley grunts. “Think I feel worse. This eight hours thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He squints blearily at him through red-rimmed eyes and then his gaze drifts beyond him to the others and he blinks hard.

“How many Miles did you bring with you? Thought it was just the one.”

Miles gives a little wave and shifts anxiously on the balls of his feet. “‘Sup Harley.”

He sits up all at once. _“Miles?”_ He glances at Peter and then to Other Miles and finally back to Miles. _“Our_ Miles? What the fuck are you wearing?”

Miles smooths a hand over the spray-painted spider on his chest. “I— Don’t be mad, but Peter was gone and I couldn’t not do anything.”

“Oh my God.” Harley puts his head in his hands.

“Harley—,” Peter starts, not sure what he’s going to say. He hadn’t expected him to take this so poorly. He’s normally so supportive he hadn’t given it a second thought.

Other Miles talks over him. “Cut him some slack, man. He did good.”

“What?” Harley lifts his head looking _guilty_ of all things. “I’m not _mad._ Miles I… I’m sorry. I should’ve… Me and Peter are supposed to be watching out for you and I wasn’t. You were out there on your own and I should’ve been—,”

“You had your hands full,” Miles says, visibly bemused at this turn. “You didn’t even notice when I took the suit.”

“Yeah, but—,” Harley goes still. “Wait. Is that…?”

“Uh yeah.” Miles rubs the back of his neck and glances at Peter. “Is that… okay?”

Peter and Harley lock gazes and then Harley turns a serious stare to the others. “Nobody tells Tony. I cannot stomach one of his tantrums right now.”

“Would he be mad?” Miles asks, eyes wide and anxious.

“Mad is a strong word,” Peter says carefully.

“He likes you so he wouldn’t actually be mad but he’ll definitely throw a fit about you defacing one of his multi-million dollar suits,” Harley says, rolling his eyes at the overreaction.

Miles goes still and his eyes widen further. “Wait what?” He holds his arms out away from his body like he’s suddenly afraid to touch the suit.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Harley says. “What he doesn’t know he can’t whine about.”

“He’s a billionaire. It’s fine,” Peter says then a thought strikes him. “Which suit did you take?”

“Uh, is there a difference?” Miles asks, looking worried. “I tried not to take one of the newer looking ones.”

“Did you take the old kinda ratty one?” he asks.

“Oh. No.” Miles pulls a face. “No offense but that one seemed like it was on its last leg.”

He relaxes and trades a relieved look with Harley.

“Yeah, we should probably retire it,” he admits. “It was the first one we built on our own so…” He shrugs. It’s hard to let go. “Took us two weeks to get it right. I was dying to get back out in the city by the time we were done.”

“Woulda gone faster if someone hadn’t had the blueprint upside down for two days worth of work.”

“Listen… I have no excuse.”

Harley cracks a grin that vanishes from his face almost as fast as it appears. He reclines back on the couch looking just as exhausted as he did before his seven-hour nap. To say he’s worried would be an understatement. Shouldn’t he look a _little_ refreshed by now? How hard has he been pushing himself?

“That reminds me,” Harley says, patting at the cushions until he finds his phone, “we gotta get you signed up for firefighter training. No sense learning the hard way twice.” He looks down at his screen and blinks. Then his expression softens and he snorts softly and mutters, “Cute,” just loud enough for Peter’s enhanced senses to pick up before he unlocks his phone.

“What do you mean?” Miles asks.

Harley looks up at Peter with a raised eyebrow that clearly asks, ‘D’you want to tell him or should I?’ Peter wrinkles his nose in response and Harley rolls his eyes.

“Hold on,” Miles says. “Is this about that fire at the beginning of the summer? The apartment building that collapsed? You were still inside, weren’t you? And it took a while for you to show up again. Everyone was kinda worried.”

He shudders at the memory. The heat, the pain, the roar of the fire, the confusion. He still dreams about it sometimes. He catches sympathetic looks on Other Miles’s and Gwen’s faces and turns away.

“Yeah, it sucked,” Harley says shortly, face blank in an intentional way. “Which is why you’re gonna learn the long and boring way instead of the exciting way that makes you have to build a new suit from scratch after.” He pauses thoughtfully. “D’you think Ganke’d take the course with you?”

“What course?” Miles asks, sounding frustrated. “What are you talking about?”

Harley blinks. “Online firefighter training. Me and Peter are almost done with ours.”

“Why’re you doing it too?”

Harley shrugs. “Support. Which brings us back to my question. Would Ganke do it with you?”

“I don’t know? I’d have to ask him. Why would he need to do it with me? Like, besides to be supportive.”

“He’s your guy in the chair, right?”

Miles stares blankly.

Harley turns to Peter for help.

“Uhh…” He looks between the two of them and then to the others for help. Gwen looks bored and is picking at a loose thread in her suit and Other Miles is watching them with interest but doesn’t seem to have anything to say to help him out.

“So like, does he umm, talk to you while you’re patrolling and uh… help?”

Miles frowns. “How would he help?”

“Ned’s not here,” Harley says with an amused curl to the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to protect his feelings. If I thought chattering in your ear every night while you’re on patrol was helpful I’d’ve started doing it months ago.”

Yeah. Okay. Point.

“Okay so basically it’s good to have someone to share stuff with, you know? Even if it’s not directly helpful, it’s nice to be able to talk about things and it gives them a way to understand too, I guess?”

“Okay,” Miles says slowly. “I’ll talk to him about it and see if he’s interested.”

“I signed you up,” Harley says, tucking away his phone and wiping his arm across his forehead. Is he sweating? The roots of his hair are darker than normal. “Check your email. If he’s interested, text me his information and I’ll sign him up too.”

“Why can’t he sign himself up?”

Harley shrugs and crosses his arms. “If he wants to pay for it he can. Or Tony can.”

“Stark lets you buy stuff with his money?” Gwen asks.

 _“‘Let’_ is a strong word,” Peter says.

“He could stop me if he really wanted to,” Harley counters. “I’ve been using his cards since January. He’s got to have noticed. Besides, his wealth isn’t going to redistribute itself.”

“Wait,” he says, struck by a sudden thought. “He pays you to work in the lab, but you use his credit cards to buy stuff and you live with him rent-free. What do you spend your money on?”

Harley smirks. “I don’t. Been saving.”

“Woah, so you’re rich?”

“Not for long,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m gonna pay off the house for Christmas and then I’ll be back at square one.”

“Your mom’s house?” This is news to him.

“Yep. Tried sending her checks at first but she refused to cash ‘em so I had to improvise. The bank manager goes to her church and promised she’d let me make the payment even though I’m not listed on the account.” Harley grins, all teeth, eyes bright. “Mama’s gonna be furious. It’s gonna be the best Christmas ever.”

Warmth floods Peter and his heart trills in his chest. He loves him so much. He’s going to find a way to make everything up to him.

“You guys are real cute with your heart eyes but I’m ready to go,” Gwen says. She looks at Other Miles and asks, “You?”

“Yeah.” Other Miles looks at Miles. “Remember what I said about Uncle Aaron,” he tells him as Gwen fiddles with the portal box.

He’s dying to know what Other Miles told Miles, but he keeps his questions to himself. It sounds personal and he doesn’t want to butt in where he isn’t welcome. He’s talked about his Uncle Aaron before. They’re pretty close. He hopes nothing bad happened to Other Miles’s uncle. He hopes if something did that it doesn’t happen to his Miles. Maybe what Other Miles told him can stop it from happening.

Miles, mouth is set in a grim but determined line, nods and a portal erupts in the middle of the room with a whoosh.

Harley and Miles lean closer to get a better look.

“Later,” Other Miles says. “See you around, Gwen.” He steps up to the portal and then he and the portal are gone with a whoosh.

Gwen conjures up another portal, one last time, and then turns to face Peter. “Thanks for the help. We wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without you.” Her lips quirk into a teasing smile, softer than he’s seen from her thus far. “First time I’ve ever been happy to have more than one Peter around.”

“Thanks?”

She grins fully and steps up to the portal but then hesitates and looks between Peter and Miles seriously. “You’ve got good people. Don’t take them for granted.”

“I won’t,” Peter says with feeling. He’d never.

“Yeah,” Miles says, expression grave as he studies Gwen’s face. “We won’t.

“Good.” She gives a little half-wave and says, “Later Spideys,” and then she’s gone and the portal with her.

After a beat, Miles says, “I should go too. I’m supposed to be meeting up with Ganke for a school project. Just wanted to make sure you made it back in one piece.”

Peter holds his arms away from his sides. “Well, here I am. All pieces of me in one spot.”

Miles shakes his head at the lame joke. “I’m glad you’re okay, man. We were really worried.”

Peter softens. “I’m sorry I disappeared like that. I knew you’d be freaked out.”

Miles laughs but it dies quickly. “That’s an understatement.”

“You wanna stop by this weekend and we’ll see what we can do about your suit?” he offers.

Miles puts a hand to his chest. “What’s wrong with my suit?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Peter is quick to say. “It’s just… Don’t you wanna make your own?”

Miles’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not? If there’s gonna be two Spider-Men swingin’ around New York from now on you might as well get your own gear, right?”

“But...” Miles looks confused. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “But I’m not the only one. We’re like Santa Clause.”

“What?” Miles side-eyes Harley like he’s trying to judge whether or not they’ll need to step in and have an intervention to save his precarious grip on his sanity.

Harley catches him looking and shakes his head. “It’s...” He sighs and asks tiredly, “Like mall Santas?”

“Yeah, exactly! They’re all Santa. It’s the same thing. Only we’re real.” Peter turns to face Miles. “So wha’d’ya say, Miles? You wanna be Spider-Man?”

Miles stares at him. “Are you sure? It’s… It’s a big deal, isn’t it? Are you sure you want _me_ carrying the Spider-Man name?”

He puts a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “There’s no one else I’d offer the job to. Besides, you already took up the mantle while I was gone and from what I’ve seen and heard, you were great. You’re already doing the job, you might as well use the name. Unless…” He stops, suddenly unsure. “I mean, unless you want to do your own thing. I get it if you don’t want to—,”

“Don’t get it twisted,” Miles says quickly. “Of course I wanna be Spider-Man.”

“Oh. Good. Well uh, welcome to the team, Spidey.”

“Wow,” Miles says. “Wow, okay.” He shakes his head. “I really do gotta head home. I’ll see you Sunday?” He turns hopeful eyes onto Peter.

“Yeah, that works.” He stops, suddenly remembering he’s 16 days _(16 days!)_ out of time. “I think. Harley?”

“Hmm?” Harley blinks and his eyes refocus. “Oh, yeah Sunday’s good. We’ll be here.”

“Awesome. See you then.” Miles slips over the window sill and leaps out of sight.

As soon as he’s gone, Peter turns to Harley. “You look hot,” he says with a frown. His hair is damp with sweat and his face is pale with a pink tint high on his cheeks, but the room doesn’t feel any warmer than usual.

“Thanks,” Harley says. Then he winks.

“No, I mean feverish. Do you feel okay?”

Harley avoids his eyes. “Kinda cold actually. He didn’t leave the window open, did he?”

He doesn’t need to check to know that the window is shut. F.R.I.D.A.Y. wouldn’t allow a window this high up to stay open. He checks anyway and sure enough, it’s shut tight.

“I think you’re sick.” He puts a hand to Harley’s forehead. “Yeah, you’re burning up. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Harley’s temperature is 102.4 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Ugh,” Harley groans. “I don’t have time to be sick.”

“How come? We’re on break, aren’t we?” He did some quick math earlier so unless he’s off, today should have been their last day of school before they get a week off for Thanksgiving.

Harley goes still and then his expression shutters, going blank. “Right. Guess I do have time.”

 _What_ is going on in his head? He’s been so hot and cold. He’s sarcastic and playful one minute and then the next he’s shutting down and putting up walls. He doesn’t like being shut out. He doesn’t like it one bit.

He sits down beside him and takes his hand between both of his. “Harley… What’s going on with you?”

Harley stares down at their clasped hands for a long minute and doesn’t say anything. “I don’t know where to start.” His voice is soft and strained and his heart aches to hear it.

“The beginning?” he suggests.

Harley frowns, eyebrows puckering. Then he sighs and lays his head on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he whispers. “Can we just sit here? For a little while.”

“‘Course.” He wraps his arm around his shoulders and drops a kiss to the crown of his head. “Of course.” He hesitates and then says, “I love you.”

Harley’s breath catches and he doesn’t respond.

Unconsciously, he holds him tighter. Why won’t he say it back? He still does, right? He said earlier that he’s pissed at him but he assumed it was the same kind of pissed that Tony gets when he doesn’t know what to do with all of his worry. What if he’s actually mad?

“Harley?” he probes quietly.

“Sorry,” Harley croaks, the single word cracking like it was pried from his throat with a fork. “I— Sorry.” He sniffs hard.

_Oh shit, he’s crying._

“God, Harley c’mere.” He pulls him more securely into his arms so he’s practically in his lap and tucks Harley’s face against his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The elevator dings and he squelches the bloom of irritation in his chest. Can’t they get _two seconds_ of privacy?

A few heartbeats later, May and Tony step into the doorway and their eyes are immediately drawn to them on the couch. Twin expression of surprise flicker across their faces, but luckily they don’t make a sound as he catches their eyes and shakes his head minutely just as a harsh sob escapes Harley and is quickly followed by a second.

May’s expression goes soft and, bewilderingly, she smiles as Tony takes her elbow and they retreat the way they came.

“I’m here,” Peter murmurs into Harley’s hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Harley clutches at the back of his suit and sobs harder.

Miserable tears well in Peter’s eyes. He’s so useless. All he can do is hold him and whisper soothing nothings and ride out the waves of Harley’s grief with him. It feels like an eternity before Harley’s shoulders stop bucking and his breathing evens out. He rubs his back until he takes a breath and sits up, wiping at his face.

Peter tries to discretely wipe his eyes too but Harley catches him and bewildered red-rimmed eyes flick up to meet his.

“What’re you cryin’ for?” he asks, voice rough.

He laughs shakily and sniffs. “Aunt May says I’m a sympathy crier. Sorry. Do you need a tissue? I think I need like, seven.”

Harley’s eyes burn his back the whole way to the kitchen where he grabs the entire tissue box off the counter and brings it with him to the living room. He grabs a couple for himself and then hands him the box and they blow their noses in awkward silence.

Harley looks terrible. His eyes are swollen and red and his face is pale. More than any of that though, he looks exhausted. Like he’s ready to go back to sleep even though he slept almost the whole day away.

Peter tosses his final tissue across the room towards the trash can and doesn’t wait to see if he made the shot before turning to face Harley.

“What can I do?” he asks. He needs to do _something._ Harley’s hurting because of him and he hates that. _Hates_ it. He wants to fix it as soon as possible. Maybe this can’t be a quick fix, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get started trying right away.

Harley shrugs, hands clenched around a tissue as he stares down at his knees, shoulders hunched.

“Hey,” he says. He skims his fingers up his arm and when Harley doesn’t pull away he takes it as a good sign. He scoots closer until their thighs are pressed together then cups his cheek and coaxes his chin up until he’s looking at him, blue eyes dark and guarded like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

That won’t do.

He smooths his thumbs over his cheekbones and Harley’s eyes lids flutter shut as he leans into his touch, his jaw unclenching. Peter presses a kiss to his forehead and gets to his feet to wrap his arms around his back as Harley sags against his chest.

“Don’t shut me out,” he says softly.

Harley nods silently and wraps his arms around his waist, clinging tightly.

“We should get you some water and fever reducer,” he says but makes no move to break their embrace.

_Talk to me talk to me talk to me talk to me_

He presses another kiss to Harley’s hair and draws senseless shapes and swirls against his back with the side of his thumb.

_Talk to me talk to me talk to me talk to me._

Nothing.

“C’mon.” He takes half a step back. “Water. Medicine. You’re probably due another meal too. I know I could eat.” He takes his hand and guides him to his feet.

Harley stands without complaint but mutters, “Not hungry.”

“Just a sandwich then,” he says quickly and, seeing Harley about to protest, adds, “and maybe jello?”

Harley purses his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

Peter squeezes his hand and tugs him towards the kitchen. “Are you still cold? I can grab you a sweater.”

Harley’s grip tightens around his hand before he can even think of pulling away.

“We can both go,” he decides. “I need to change anyway. C’mon.”

He leads the way to his room, towing Harley along behind him.

When he opens the door, he stops. He doesn’t have a perfect memory of how he left his things yesterday, but he thinks how it is now is pretty much how it was. His laptop is on the desk chair where he set it after checking the comments on their latest Iron Interns video. His Spider-Man slippers and his pajama pants are on the floor next to the bed where he kicked them off. Even his trash is where he left it.

It was yesterday for him but it’s been 16 days for Harley and he hasn’t touched any of his things. Harley’s things have moved around. There are notebooks and textbooks strewn across the bed and some empty energy drinks on the nightstand, but Peter’s things haven’t been touched.

He doesn’t know what that means, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He unsticks his feet from the doorway and walks over to the dresser and digs out his biggest comfiest sweater. Well, technically it’s Ned’s but it’s been in his dresser for at least two years so he figures Ned’s probably forgotten about it by now so he can claim ownership.

“Put this on. I’m gonna change out of this,” he plucks at the collar of his suit.

He changes into sweatpants and a hoodie (one of May’s) in record time and then turns to retake Harley’s hand. He nearly trips over his own feet. Harley is wearing the sweater and it drapes off of him making his six-foot frame seem impossibly small. His hair is tousled and he looks sleepy and soft.

He can’t resist stepping into his space and kissing him.

Harley turns his head at the last second and his lips land on his cheek.

“Don’t want to get you sick,” Harley tells him softly.

“I don’t get sick anymore,” he tells him, which… isn’t entirely true. He can get sick but his healing factor makes quick work of viruses so usually he only notices the symptoms for a couple of hours and then he’s fine. It’s worth the risk.

He leans in again and this time Harley lets him kiss him soft and slow. He sighs into the kiss and Harley’s hands settle on his hips as Peter cups his jaw with one hand and slides the other to the side of his neck.

Something wet slides between his fingers and when he pulls back he finds silent tears rolling down Harley’s cheeks.

“Harley.”

“Sorry,” he sniffs, scrubbing at his cheeks and looking away.

“Don’t do that.” He carefully wipes his cheek only for more tears to swiftly follow. “Please talk to me. Same page, remember?”

Harley inhales harshly and then releases it in one trembling exhale. “I didn’t think…” He closes his eyes and swallows thickly as more tears squeeze out from under his lashes.

Peter wipes those away too.

“I didn’t think I’d get this again.”

His heart breaks. He didn’t expect to find him. He didn’t think he’d come back.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving. I love you.” He repeats it over and over hoping if Harley hears it enough it’ll sink in.

“I’m sorry,” Harley chokes out. He tries to step back and wipe his face, but Peter matches his step.

“What for? You don’t have anything to apologize for. What happened while I was gone? How can I help?”

“I… There’s not a lot to tell. We just… couldn’t find you. Didn’t even know where to start. Weren’t even close.” He scoffs, a humorless thing. “I… We were gonna search the last sector soon and then…”

“You were out of ideas,” he finishes for him. He imagines for a second how he’d feel if Harley vanished and he ran out of places to search for him, but only for a second. A shiver runs down his spine and he pushes the feeling away. Cold. Helpless. Terrifying.

“I was gonna make a deal with a wizard or something.”

He smiles and then registers Harley’s serious expression. “Hold on. Do you mean that literally? Have you met a wizard?”

“No, but Tony has. Well, he doesn’t think the guy’s the real deal but uh,” Harley wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve, “S.H.E.I.L.D. does so…” He shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”

He turns the sentence over in his brain again and again but he can’t get it to make sense. “Mr. Stark knows a wizard?”

Harley tries on a wobbly smile. “The world got a lot bigger when we were looking for you. Not that it mattered since you weren’t even in this universe. Actually… I think the wizard said something like that. That you weren’t on this plane of existence. Maybe he’s the real deal after all.”

Peter takes a moment to process this and then shakes his head. “What else? You and May got close. Don’t make that face,” he says, spotting the that guilt flickers across Harley’s features. “I’m ecstatic that you guys are tight now. I just wish I’d been around to see it happen.”

“She uh…” The guilt lingers. “I wasn’t… in a good place. I wasn’t taking care of myself.”

“I noticed,” he grumbles.

“Worse,” Harley says, shaking his head.

 _Worse?_ Worse than not sleeping for two days?

Harley doesn’t meet his eyes as he continues, “Pepper called me out on my bullshit. She was just… She was trying to help and I was such an asshole to her. I… I made her cry.”

“What?” That can’t be right. First, Pepper’s invincible, untouchable. Second, Harley wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Harley winces and tries to step away, but Peter follows again. “Cut it out. I’m not going anywhere. What happened?”

He blows out a breath. “I uh, I guess she called May for backup or something because she came and found me in the lab. I thought she was gonna tear into me but she just… She was understanding. She watched the satellite feed for me so I could go apologize to Pepper and we worked it all out and made a deal that I’d cut back on the caffeine and actually sleep and eat and that worked for a little while. Her and May, I guess they kind of tag-teamed me and Tony—Rhodey too when he could get away from D.C. They made sure we ate and took breaks. They shouldn’t have had to but…” Harley shrugs.

“Why did it only work for a little while? Why weren’t you sleeping when I got back?”

“I… Earlier this week I realized none of us were expecting to find you. When you first disappeared, we talked like we could find you at any moment and we wanted to be ready to do whatever it took to get to you. Then there was this whole…”

He clenches his jaw and looks away.

“I fucked up,” he says, the words jagged and sharp. “The media figured out that something was going on with you and when we were talking about what to do about it I realized none of us expected for it all to get fixed by finding you. We were talking like you’d still be missing for weeks and I just—,” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t stand that it felt like we’d given up on you.”

What’s he supposed to say to that? He should have been here. He should have tried harder to get a message to them. Anything. Hell, he should have popped back over and told them what was going on in-person and _then_ helped Gwen and Other Miles. This is all his fault. He could have checked in with them at any time but he didn’t and now he’s got to live with knowing the look on Harley’s face is there because of him—that the new age lines on Mr. Stark’s face and the rigidity in Pepper’s shoulders and the quiet grief behind May’s eyes, it’s all his fault.

“Stop,” Harley says quietly. He puts his hands on Peter’s hips and his thumbs find their way under the hem of his sweater to the skin just above his waistband. “If I’m not allowed to feel like shit about it then neither are you.”

“It’s my fault though,” he says, unable to meet his eyes. “I should have—,”

“Stop,” Harley says with a little more force this time. “Can we not? Please? I just want things to go back to normal or new normal or whatever. I’m tired of feeling shitty all the time.”

“New normal?” he echoes. What’s _new_ normal? Are things really so bad off that they need a whole new normal?

He looks up and meets Harley’s anxious stare and the tension drains from his shoulders as something settles in his chest.

If new normal is what Harley needs then he’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of that pinched expression and the gloom in his eyes. He misses the quick smiles and jokes and how easy it was to make him laugh. He wants him happy again and he’ll do whatever it takes to get him there.

“I can do new normal,” he says. “You ready for jello?”

Harley’s expression softens and he leans in and kissed him, soft and sweet. “Yeah.”

~ **Miles** ~

Miles sits on his bed and stares at the wall for a long time after he gets home.

He met her. He met _Gwen._ She wasn’t the right Gwen but she was there and she was real. Everything feels heavier than it did before. This was hard enough when Gwen was some random college student who needed help but now she’s a person.

He should have told Peter everything but… he didn’t. Instead, he made some half-assed excuse and ran away. He’s not sure why except that there’s a tangled knot of something at the base of his throat that wouldn’t let the words come out. Strangely, it feels like resentment but he doesn’t resent _Spider-Man,_ does he? It’s not Peter’s fault he got pulled through the portal. It’s not his fault that someone over there needed saving.

_But what about me?_

He needed him and he wasn’t here like he always promised he would be.

But maybe he doesn’t need him as much as he thought. That other him, the alternate universe Miles, he’s a _real_ hero. He’s a real _Spider-Man._ That’s what he’s _supposed_ to be.

But those things he said about Uncle Aaron… It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe that’s what the alt-Miles’s Uncle Aaron was doing but that doesn’t mean _his_ uncle is the same. He _can’t_ be—,”

“Mijo!” His mom knocks on his door nearly scaring him out of his skin. How did he not hear her coming? “Dinner!”

He shakes off his bleak thoughts and opens the door. She’s still standing there and looks him up and down with her hands on her hips, dark hair still tied back and skin faintly smelling of hospital disinfectant.

“Your dad says you were late coming home from school.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and ducks around her, making a break for the kitchen. “Yeah, Ganke wanted some help with one of our assignments,” he lies.

He’s been doing a lot of that lately. It’s part of why he’s grounded for the rest of his life.

His mom makes a displeased sound in her throat but doesn’t call him out on the lie.

What’s he supposed to do? He can’t tell her he was checking on Spider-Man. He _can’t._ She won’t let him do what he does. If this is how much trouble he gets in for skipping class and lying then he doesn’t want to know what will happen if he tells her he regularly faces down armed criminals in the dead of night by himself. Not to mention, his dad would lose his mind if he found out he’s a vigilante. That’s _illegal._

He drops into a chair at the table across from his dad and stares down at his plate, the steam from the heap of spiced rice and beans on his plate wafting over him. His stomach growls. He swears he just ate but he’s already starving again and his mom’s cooking never disappoints.

“La piña está agria,” his mom murmurs as she sits next to his dad.

He sighs quietly and picks up his fork. Times are tough alright. She’s got no idea and he means to keep it that way. Even if it means suffering twin disappointed stares burrowing into the top of his skull through every meal for the rest of break.

Midway through the meal, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He peaks at it under the table, expecting an update from Ganke on his research into Oscorp’s physical security, but instead finds a text from Pepper.

_‘Hi Miles. How are you holding up? Please don’t tell Peter about your investigation yet. We’re trying to convince him to stay under the radar so no one links SM with PP. Are you okay to keep up what you’ve been doing for a couple more weeks? - Pepper’_

She writes text messages like she’s composing an email.

He purses his lips and taps out a quick response. Before he can hit send, another text comes through.

_‘Investigate ONLY. Don’t do anything dangerous. That’s what the Avengers are for. - Pepper’_

He rolls his eyes and hits send. Technically, he hasn’t done anything dangerous because he hasn’t figured out how to get into Oscorp yet, but it’s only a matter of time. What hurt can one more lie bring?

_‘I’m good. Sure thing Mrs. P-S.’_

~ **Peter** ~

After they eat, he gets busy reconstructing the living room. Harley’s needs to rest and he’s not going to let him leave his side until he’s feeling less… precarious. But May, Tony, and Pepper have also been missing him so he doesn’t want to shut himself away in his bedroom with Harley and leave them high and dry.

So he builds a fort. He maybe goes overboard with it, but he keeps getting ideas and by the end of it the fort takes up the entire center of the living room and stretches halfway to the ceiling.

“Am I allowed to look yet? You’re taking forever,” Harley calls from the kitchen table where Peter ordered him to wait. He doesn’t sound irritated, just bored.

“Almost!” Peter yells back.

If this last strand of lights would just— Perfect!

The pinks, yellows, greens, and blues of the Christmas lights create a warm glow, softly illuminating the sea of blankets, cushions, and pillows that he has to wade through to get back to the cave-like entrance.

The futon mattress is the real MVP—soft and cushioned and perfect for lounging about on the floor. He only caught a glimpse of it in the lab, distracted as he was at the time, but luckily he remembered it. He insisted Harley wait in the penthouse instead of going with him to get it so it took some maneuvering to cram it into the elevator by himself but he managed and now his hard work is about to pay off.

He crawls out of the fort and stops over at the fireplace mantle to check the oil diffuser. He found it tucked away in a closet while he was hunting down blankets and pillows so of course he dragged it out and dumped in some of the lavender-scented oil that was stored with it. The diffuser is still puffing out mists of fragrant air so there’s only one thing left to do.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. lights off, please. Okay, you can come in.”

The main overhead lights dim until only the glow of the fort is illuminating the room. The sun set some time ago but the lights of the city are, as always, visible through the wall of windows beyond the fort and contrast nicely against the multi-colored strings of lights showing through the blanket walls.

“Damn,” Harley says, stepping into the room. “You sure know your way around a blanket fort.”

“Lots of practice,” he says, looking Harley over with a critical eye. After he ate and took some acetaminophen he seemed to perk up but that was at least an hour ago and he’s looking bedraggled again. Time to rest.

Harley glances at him curiously. “Yeah? May does seem the type to appreciate a good blanket cave.”

“Oh for sure, but it was me and Uncle Ben that always built them. Anything May touched would immediately collapse.”

He smiles lightly as he reminisces on late nights tucked safely between his aunt and uncle, the soft glow of fairy lights encasing everything in warmth, hot cocoa held carefully in two hands, the strong scent of May’s incense burning across the room, and Ben’s soothing deep voice reading whatever book he’d decided Peter couldn’t go on without having read—Lord of the Rings, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians, The Colour of Magic.

Even as a little kid, he was obsessed with science and finding and pushing the limits of reality. Uncle Ben made it his mission to balance him out with magic and the audacity to stare down the impossible and try anyway. Their common ground was Star Wars, an epic blend of science fiction and fantasy.

Sometimes Aunt May would pick a book and read to them. While Uncle Ben’s choices were typically epic adventures, she always seemed to pick stories that took him on a different kind of journey and lingered in the back of his mind long after the sun rose and the blankets and cushions were returned to their rightful places. They involved people of all different backgrounds and internal journeys of growth, healing, and self-discovery— Holes, Esperanza Rising, Number the Stars, Green Angel.

He wouldn’t change any of it and he’d never pick one over the other. They both had their own kind of magic and are some of his most cherished memories. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to recapture that for Harley but he’s certainly going to try.

“The inside is cooler,” Peter says, taking Harley’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “C’mon. You got your water?”

“Shit, no.” He turns towards the kitchen but Peter nudges him towards the fort instead.

“I’ll get it. You go get comfy.” He plants a kiss on the side of his head and hurries away before he can protest.

His water bottle is only missing a few fingers of water but he tops it off anyway before heading back to the fort. Inside, he finds Harley already curled up under the comforter from Peter’s bed, only his pale face poking out, freckles stark across his nose and cheeks, hair tousled, warm and sleepy. His eyes lethargically follow Peter as he picks his way over mounds of pillows and blankets before making it to the futon mattress and dropping down next to him.

“Drink,” he says, holding out the water bottle.

Harley makes a sour face but frees an arm and takes it, pulling the top up with his teeth to suck in a mouthful and swallow.

“One more,” he insists.

Harley glowers but does as he’s told before setting it aside and lifting the edge of the blanket in invitation.

He doesn’t need to be told what to do and promptly crawls under and tucks his forehead against Harley’s chest, wrapping his arm around his waist. He’s still really warm but not like he was earlier. Hopefully, the medicine keeps the fever down for a good long while.

Harley settles the blanket around him and then curls an arm around his back, holding him close. Harley’s heart is steady and strong under his ear and it doesn’t take any time at all for his mind to fog and start to drift as sleep clouds around him.

“I forget sometimes,” Harley says, his soft voice drawing him away from the brink of sleep.

“Hmm?”

“That we didn’t grow up the same.”

He frowns. Why would Harley think they grew up the same? He’s a city boy through and through and Harley grew up surrounded by open fields and rolling hills, nosy town folk, and good clean country living.

“What d’you mean?”

“You don’t talk about your uncle very much,” Harley says, a hesitance to his tone. Peter stills. “But he was like a dad to you, right?”

“Yeah.”

Uncle Ben was the best dad. Maybe not the best dad in the whole world, he certainly wasn’t perfect, but he was the best dad for Peter. He was perfect for Peter.

“Sometimes I wish…” Harley trails off and tucks his chin. “It’s stupid,” he mumbles into Peter’s hair.

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t wish he would’ve stayed—my dad, I mean. No point in making someone stick around somewhere they don’t wanna be. But I wish he’d been different. I wish he wanted us.”

Peter holds him a little tighter, not sure what to say. He’s got his own impossible wishes that he keeps close to his chest so he knows there’s nothing to be done. “‘M sorry.”

Harley kisses the top of his head.

Under his ear, the rhythm of Harley’s heart beats a little faster, barely noticeable except to Peter who’s paying attention. Harley pulls in a breath and Peter waits for him to say something, but then he releases it and stays silent.

“What?” Peter prods. “You can talk to me.”

Still, Harley hesitates so Peter pokes him in the ribs.

“Hey! Okay, fine,” Harley says. “Keep your boney little fingers to yourself.”

“No promises.”

Harley huffs and twists, grabbing Peter’s wrist from behind him and then tucks it against his chest before wrapping his arm around him again, leaving both of Peter’s arms pinned between their chests.

“There,” he says.

Peter smiles and nuzzles his face into the front of Harley’s sweater. “This is nice. You still have to tell me though.”

“It’s dumb.”

“Wasn’t last time. Doubt it is this time.”

“Well… I was wondering if you’d tell me about him. Obviously, you don’t have to. I just…”

“Who?” he asks. He never met Harley’s dad so—

Oh.

“Your uncle,” Harley says just as he puts the pieces together himself. “I… What was it like? Having a dad, I mean. Having two parents.”

What a thing to ask an orphan.

Still… he’s not wrong. Technically, Peter can be defined as an orphan but he’s never _felt_ like one. Or at least, he hasn’t in many, many years. Right after his parents died and Uncle Ben and Aunt May took him in he was terrified they would change their minds. He knew they didn’t want kids. His parents had talked about that often enough that it became a fact to him.

There are 60 seconds in a minute.

Uranus spins on its side like a barrel.

Hydrogen is the most common element found in our universe.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben don’t want kids.

Then they got landed with him. He always tried to be on his best behavior—to say please and thank you and not leave behind messes or make too much noise or bother them when they’re watching TV or cooking or cleaning or reading. He was afraid if he messed up too many times they’d send him away to live with strangers at an orphanage like the kids at school said they would.

As he got older, that fear fell away, soothed into oblivion by the love and joy that filled their home, but he always did what he could to ease the burden of his presence because they still didn’t _choose_ to have a child. He isn’t what they had planned for their lives. They love him but the fact is, he irrevocably altered the course of their lives and because of him they had to live paycheck to paycheck, one car problem away from poverty at all times, one hospital trip away from destitution. Because of him.

“Forget I asked,” Harley mumbles. “Sorry.”

“No,” Peter blurts. “It’s fine, I just… don’t know where to start I guess.”

No one ever asks about how Ben was when he was alive. Anyone who asks about him only wants to know how he died and how Peter’s handling it. No one asks about who he was and as Peter thinks about it, he realizes that he wants to talk about him. He wants Harley to know everything about one of the most important people in his life. One of two people who are absolutely critical to who he is today.

“Did he make dad jokes?” Harley asks.

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him.

“Nah. He had a really dry sense of humor. Like, you’d realize ten minutes later that he was messing with you and then you’d call him on it and he’d just smile. I think he liked it when people didn’t catch on that he wasn’t being serious. Like it was a private joke just for him.”

“So… Nothing like May then.”

“No way. They were complete opposites.”

“Really? I was picturing him like a hippy for some reason.”

Peter laughs so hard he almost chokes.

“Not a hippy then,” Harley says, a curl of amusement in his tone. “Got it.”

Peter rolls onto his back to wipe his streaming eyes. He’s still giggling as he asks, “What made you think that?”

He looks up and finds Harley already looking back with an unreadable look on his face. When their eyes meet his expression softens and with careful fingers, he smooths Peter’s hair away from his face.

“I dunno. Guess I was just thinking that’s the kind of guy May would go for.”

“Uncle Ben was always the responsible and level-headed one out of all of us.” He grins as he remembers the countless times he’d sigh and follow after May as she took off on some spur of the moment adventure, picking up whatever necessary items she’d forget in her hurry (keys, purse, phone) and try to keep her out of trouble. “Me and May kind of feed off each other and make everything bigger than it really is. If she freaks out then I freak out and vise versa. Ben was always the one to keep us from flying off the rails entirely.”

“Wish I coulda met him. You guys sound like the perfect family.”

Now that he thinks about it, Harley and Ben have a lot in common. Their temperament is the same—calm and easy-going. Not easy to rile up. Harley’s a natural caretaker and Ben was too. He didn’t always verbalize his feelings but he paid attention and met needs Peter didn’t know he had until they were already taken care of. He was the one that cooked dinner every night and did the shopping and balanced the checkbook. He was the one to make room in the budget for science fair projects and school trips. He was the one that would see Peter growing frustrated with his school work and suggest a movie break or ask him to help in the kitchen to give him something to do with his hands that he could clearly track the progress of.

“He’d have liked you,” he blurts.

It hurts that Ben will never meet the person that so wholly owns his heart. Vividly, he sees the four of them in the same room: Harley and him with Ben and May, two matching sets. He could have been Harley’s back-up dad too. He would have loved him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up.” Harley wipes away a tear as it breaks free and runs down Peter’s cheek.

“No,” Peter says, scrubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. “No, I’m glad you did. I want you to know about him.” He sniffs. “I just… he’d have loved you. I know it.”

“Okay,” Harley says softly, pulling Peter back against his chest and tucking him neatly under his chin. “Okay, Spider Baby. What else? What movies did you watch together?”

“Umm, well Star Wars obviously.”

“Oh are you into Star Wars? I hadn’t noticed.”

He laughs wetly and shoves his chest. “Shut up. We’d uh… We’d go to the park and have these epic lightsaber battles.”

“At the park?”

“Well, yeah. Not enough room in the house and we didn’t want to break anything.”

“People must’ve thought you were crazy.”

Peter shrugs. “If they did, we didn’t notice. We were having too much fun. Except for that one time Ben force-threw me over a—,”

“Back up. _Force-threw_ you?”

“We had to respect the force, dumb-dumb. That’s rule number one. Anyway. He force-threw me over a stone wall and down a ten-foot drop and I broke my arm. Aunt May was so mad.”

“I’m surprised she let you live.”

 _“Me?_ He’s the one that force-threw me! She gave him the silent treatment for like a whole hour, which is a really long time for her.”

“So you’re telling me, that you intentionally threw yourself over a wall and down a ten-foot drop because your uncle stuck his hand out at you and then May got mad… at your uncle?”

“I mean… Yeah. Part of being a Jedi master is using the force responsibly. He knew better.”

“Oh my God, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You’re giving me anxiety.”

Peter laughs and snuggles closer against Harley’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Harley falls asleep a short time later but Peter finds himself lying awake, listening to him breathe. It’s always a bad idea for him to think about Uncle Ben right before he needs to sleep. His thoughts are always quick to take a downward turn and dwell on all the worst things and now he knows that in every universe that there is a Peter Parker, Ben Parker dies young.

_Don’t chase that rabbit, kiddo._

He tries not to. He really does.

~*~

He wakes up to soft voices in the kitchen and the sweet scent of pancakes heavy in the air. He’s surprised he was able to sleep through it. Usually, he startles awake at the first sign of movement. Then again, he does sleep more soundly when he’s with Harley and he didn’t manage to actually sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

His back is pressed against Harley’s chest and he’s soaked in sweat. Harley’s fever seems to be back with a vengeance and it’s cooking Peter to death. He slips out from under Harley’s arm, careful not to wake him, and crawls for the exit.

“Where’re you goin’?”

So much for not waking him up.

He turns and finds Harley peering at him blearily from under a pile of blankets. His hair is damp at the roots and sticking up every which way and his cheeks are flushed pink.

“To get you more medicine.” He scuttles back and puts the back of his hand against Harley’s forehead. Harley’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into Peter’s touch. “How’re you feeling?”

“Cold,” Harley grumbles. “You were keeping me warm.”

“Aww, poor baby.” Peter kisses his forehead. His lips burn. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Hold on. ‘M coming with you.” Harley kicks at the blankets and tries to sit up but he pushes him back down.

“No, just stay. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

“I need to pee.” Harley scowls up at him. “Or are you able to do that for me too?”

Peter pauses. “Are you actually mad at me right now or just grumpy?”

Harley immediately softens. “Grumpy. Sorry. I hate being sick. I’m not mad.”

“It’s okay. I can handle a little snark. C’mon.”

He leads the way out of the fort and breathes a sigh of relief when fresh air hits his face. He hadn’t realized how stagnant and warm it’d been in there.

“Fuck, it’s cold out here,” Harley complains before he’s even all the way out. He stands and sways on his feet.

“Woah!” Peter braces him by his shoulders and guides him to the couch.

“‘M okay,” Harley says, but sits anyway. “Got dizzy for a sec.”

“Hold on.” He ducks into the cave and pulls out a thick blanket that he wraps around Harley’s shoulders. “Better?”

“Mmm yeah, thanks.” Harley sighs and slumps to the side, eyes closing. “Gimme a minute.”

“Sleepy?” Peter asks, combing his fingers through Harley’s hair.

“Exhausted,” Harley says, leaning into Peter’s touch. “Everything hurts.”

“You boys finally up?” May calls from the kitchen. A moment later she pops her head around the corner, but the natural smile on her face slips when she catches sight of them. “Are you sick?” she asks, stepping fully into the living room.

“Who’s sick?” Mr. Stark calls from inside the kitchen.

“I think it’s the flu,” Peter tells May before Harley gets the chance to answer. “Body aches, chills, fever, fatigue.”

“Headache,” Harley adds. “Sore throat.”

“Yeah that sounds like the flu alright,” May says and then calls over her shoulder into the kitchen, “Harley’s got the flu.”

“Oh no,” Pepper says. “Does he want oatmeal instead of pancakes?”

“I’ll make him some tea,” Mr. Stark offers. “Ask him when was the last time he took a fever reducer. He needs to keep on top of that.”

Harley turns pleading eyes onto Peter while May feels his forehead and clucks her tongue. Peter can’t help but grin at his misery.

“I’m taking care of him,” he yells into the kitchen. “He’s taking more medicine right now.” He glances at Harley. “Pancakes or oatmeal?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just pick one. Oatmeal would probably feel good on your throat.”

“Yeah, fine whatever.”

“Oatmeal, please! And do the peppermint tea!”

“Peppermint?” Mr. Stark balks. “The flu is a green tea illness.”

“But it tastes like garbage! If you want him to drink it you gotta pick one that tastes good.”

His enhanced ears can pick up Mr. Stark grumbling under his breath, but he doesn’t argue further so he assumes he’s making the peppermint tea.

“I don’t even like tea,” Harley whines.

“Tough,” he says.

“Humor us,” May says at the same time.

“I’m the sick one. Shouldn’t you be humoring me?”

“Nope,” they say.

Harley rolls his eyes and struggles to his feet, keeping the blanket wrapped tight around him. “Whatever. I’m going pee. Anyone wanna hold my hand for that too?”

“Nah, you got this champ.” He gives him a double thumbs-up.

“We believe in you, sweetie,” May tells him.

Harley glares. “You guys suck.”

“Take your medicine while you’re in there,” Peter calls after him.

Harley stops just inside the hallway and adjusts his blanket until he gets a hand free and then flips him off. Peter laughs as he turns and shuffles out of sight down the hall to the bathroom.

“This is quite the palace you’ve constructed for your beau,” May says, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Reminds me of Ben.”

He leans into the hug. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s good though. You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” he says softly.

Something unspoken passes between them. An understanding perhaps, that although Ben will never live to see his 42nd birthday, they can still carry him with them into the future by remembering and by not shying away from doing things that make them remember.

He clears his throat, feeling oddly emotional. “I’m gonna get Harley’s water,” he says, nodding towards the fort. “He keeps leaving it lying around.”

May squeezes him against her side once more before letting her arm fall to her side. “You do a good job taking care of him. You both do.”

“He’s going to fight me every step of the way.”

May shrugs. “Maybe. I get the feeling that he doesn’t hate being coddled nearly as much as he thinks he does. Pancakes?”

“Yes, please! I’ll be right there.”

After retrieving the water bottle, he heads down the hallway rather than going straight to the kitchen and runs into Harley sans blanket as he’s coming out of their room.

“Doubled up,” he says, pulling aside the neck of Ned’s over-sized sweater to reveal a black hoodie underneath.

“You look like the Michelin Man.”

Harley sighs, shoulders sagging, and fixes Peter with the most pathetic stare he’s ever seen. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be nice to your significant other when they’re sick.”

“Is that how you country bumpkins do it? We’re beyond that here in the city. We breed our people to ensure they’re strong enough to withstand even the sickest burns no matter their health status.”

Harley stares at him, eyes hooded and mouth pressed in a thin line. “I’m going back to bed,” he says after a drawn-out pause.

“No, no I was joking! I’ll be nice now, I promise. C’mon, let’s go eat.” He turns pleading eyes up to meet Harley’s and sees the moment he breaks.

“Fine, but if the tea is gross I’m not drinking it.”

“Deal.” He presses a quick kiss to his cheek and then interlaces their fingers.

When they step into the kitchen, May is seated at the kitchen table next to a plate piled high with pancakes and eggs and is talking to Mr. Stark who’s at the counter dumping sugar in a mug while Bumpurr is perched on his shoulder, her tail curled loosely around his neck.

“Brown sugar? Honey?” Pepper asks as she takes a bowl out of the microwave. “We have some dried cranberries too if you’d like.”

“Brown sugar, please,” Harley tells her. “And butter if you don’t mind.”

Peter doesn’t even give him grief for the butter thing because he’s too busy staring at Mr. Stark and Bumpurr. Last he knew Mr. Stark didn’t want anything to do with their kitten but now here he is practically snuggling her.

“What the hell?”

Harley follows his gaze and stares nonplussed for a long moment before realization lights his features. “Oh right. Tony might have adopted her out from under us while you were gone. Sorry about it.”

“What the—? You let him adopt our daughter?!”

 _“‘Let’_ isn’t the word I would use.”

“Deal with it kiddo,” Mr. Stark tells him as he hands Harley the mug. Harley tentatively sniffs at it and wrinkles his nose. “I’m irresistible to women. That’s a fact.”

“Gross,” Peter says. “Don’t talk about my baby that way.”

Pepper turns, doctored oatmeal in hand, and raises an eyebrow at her husband.

“Except you, honey,” Mr. Stark says quickly. “You can resist me whenever you feel like it because you’re strong and capable and independent.”

Pepper doesn’t look impressed. She shakes her head and turns to Harley. “How are you feeling? Is Peter doing a good job taking care of you?”

“Hey!” Peter complains. “I’m doing the best job.”

Pepper smiles and steps over to ruffle his hair. “I’m sure you are, sweetie.”

A spike of alarm pierces through him.

Harley says something to her, but he’s not listening anymore. Something’s _wrong._ His Spidey sense is quiet, but his instincts are nagging at him, trying to get his attention. What? What is it?

 _Pepper,_ he realizes. He focuses on her where she stands in front of Harley with her hand on his forehead. She sounds weird. Her heart sounds weird but there’s too much noise for him to pick out exactly what caught his attention.

“Quiet,” he says abruptly.

Conversation fumbles to a stop as everyone turns to look at him, concern blossoming in each expression.

He ignores them and leans closer to Pepper, listening intently. “Are you okay? Your heart sounds—,” All at once, he realizes that what he’s hearing isn’t one heartbeat thumping erratically, but _two_ heartbeats out of sync. “Oh my God.”

Pepper goes still. “Peter,” she says, a warning in her tone, but he doesn’t register it.

“Are we having a baby?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Oh my God! This is so— Oh my God!”

“Peter,” Pepper says again, this time exasperated.

“Uh… what?” Mr. Stark says, wide-eyes locked on Pepper’s torso.

Oh shit.

He freezes and meets Pepper’s flat gaze like a deer in headlights before glancing around and taking in everyone’s shocked stares.

“Fuck, I mean… Actually, that’s not— We need to get you to the Med Bay right now, immediately. That sounds like cardiac arrhythmia which is super serious and we need to—,”

“Peter,” Pepper interrupts.

“OR! Or, maybe it’s a— a worm or something. Like a really big one. Have you eaten at any sketchy food carts lately?”

“Peter, please.”

He shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth and grimaces in apology. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She faces Mr. Stark who’s frozen in place on the other side of the kitchen, staring at her with a jumbled expression. Confusion, worry, and... hope? All waring with each other.

She smiles gently and her eyes grow wet as she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Mr. Stark asks, voice barely a whisper, “Are you sure?”

Pepper laughs. “If I wasn’t before, I am now,” she says with a glance at Peter whose cheeks flush with heat. “I found out a couple of weeks ago but wanted to wait to tell you until things were less… stressful.”

“I… This is good?” Mr. Stark asks. “You want…”

“I do.”

“Last time we talked about it you—,”

“That was a long time ago, Tony. I’ve… Well, we’ve had something of a trial run, haven’t we? Fatherhood looks good on you and I’m… I’m ready now.”

Joy blooms on Mr. Stark’s face. “Are we having a baby?”

Pepper laughs and a few tears spill down her cheeks. “Stupid hormones,” she says as she wipes them away impatiently. “Yes, we’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God. We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby.”

Peter looks away as Mr. Stark leaps forward to kiss her and finds May at the kitchen table with her hands covering her mouth and tears in her eyes. She meets his eyes and beams as she silently motions him over. He tows Harley with him but is forced to drop his hand when May pulls him into a strong hug.

“Good job,” she says. “I knew she was hiding something. I’m so glad it was good news.”

“You didn’t know?” Harley asks, clutching his tea in both hands.

He stumbles out of May’s embrace and frowns at Harley’s wooden expression. Why wouldn’t he be happy for them?

“There’s so much to do!” Mr. Stark suddenly exclaims, loud enough for Bumpurr to shoot him a dirty look and hop down from his shoulder. He doesn’t pay her any attention. “When…”

“I’m seven weeks along, so June.”

“June.” Mr. Stark looks dazed. “That’s… There’s so much to do. This place isn’t fit to raise a baby.” A dawning horror falls over his face like a shadow. “Oh God, we’re having a baby.”

“Don’t go overboard,” Pepper warns sharply.

“I’ve never gone overboard on anything in my life. I’ve always gone just the right amount of board.” He kisses her cheek and then bolts from the kitchen, phone already in hand as Pepper smiles fondly after him.

“He’s so going overboard,” May says with a laugh.

“He wouldn’t be Tony if he didn’t,” Pepper responds, still smiling.

“This is the thing, right?” Harley blurts. “The one you wouldn’t tell me about. You said someone was helping you.” He says it like an accusation.

Pepper softens. “I did. Funny thing, big ears seems to be something spider boys have in common.”

 _“…Miles?”_ Harley sputters. _“Miles_ was the one helping you?”

“He’s a good kid,” Pepper says fondly. “Smart too. Didn’t take him more than five seconds to figure out that I hadn’t told anyone and wasn’t planning to. He stepped right up and offered to help however he could. I have to say, he could make a killing if he decided to go into the delivery business. He’s gotten pretty quick with those web-shooters.”

Peter’s chest warms. Sometimes he forgets how genuinely good Miles is and then it hits him all over again.

“But…” Harley trails off, looking lost.

Pepper puts her hands on Harley’s shoulders. “You had so much on your plate already. I couldn’t possibly add more.”

“I… I dunno. I feel like I should have noticed or something.”

Pepper chuckles. “You didn’t notice because I didn’t want you to notice.”

He doesn’t appear comforted. “I guess.”

Pepper steps back and puts her hands on her hips. “Now,” she says, brisk and business-like, “I’ve had a couple of weeks to think this over and I need you boys to promise me something.”

They trade glances and shrug.

“Okay.”

“Shoot.”

“Promise you’ll look out for them? You’ve both had the chance to grow up out of the spotlight but they’ll be brought up in it and both of you know how hard this life can be. We all need to work together as a family to give our baby as much normalcy as we can. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Peter chokes out, throat tight, tears barely held in check. _He’s gonna be a big brother._

“Yeah, of course,” Harley echoes a beat later.

_Holy crap, he’s going to be a big brother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!!!
> 
> This is a little later than normal bc I'm a schmuck and forgot what day it was and had a lazy morning followed by Panic™ as I realized I still needed to slap on the last coat of polish (aka let Grammarly yell at me about commas) and get this posted. But here it is! A little hurt. A little comfort. A little boys being boys. A little Miles being in over his head. A little kitty cat for Tony.
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos! I love my emails from AO3 more than anything!


	12. Are we gonna fight about ninja turtles

~ **Harley** ~

“Why are you asking us?” Peter asks.

Peter looks over at him but all Harley can do is shrug. He doesn’t know why Tony would come to them for interior decorating advice either. Has he looked in their room lately? The closest thing to decorations they have is the dirty laundry littered across the floor. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, it could use a clean. There’s a lingering body odor smell that isn’t exactly pleasant.

“Pardon me for wanting to involve my two young prodigies in the next phase of my life,” Tony snarks. “If you don’t want to help then I’ll go find someone who does.”

“No, no we’ll help!” Peter offers for the both of them. “What’s uh… what’s the thing you’re wanting to know again?”

Tony sighs his most put-upon sigh and blows up the holoscreen even bigger. “Which of these wood colorings goes best with these carpet samples?” He hands Peter three little squares of carpet.

“Well uh…” Peter examines the carpet samples and looks at Harley, a question in his gaze before he turns back to Tony and holds up one of the squares. “This one is the softest.”

“Literally not what I asked.” Tony turns to Harley. “Please give me something even remotely helpful.”

“I…” He looks at the wood colors displayed on the monitor and then down at the carpet samples. Then he takes the samples from Peter and holds them up to compare them that way. They all look fine to him. “I think wood and carpet just match and color doesn’t matter.”

“Again, not what I—,” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why I even bothered. You two are useless to me. Get out of my lab.”

“What? But we were gonna—,”

“Don’t care!” Tony says over Peter’s objection. “I need peace and you two grant me nothing but headaches. Out!”

“You can’t ban us from the lab,” Harley argues. “We’ve got shit to do too.”

“You’re right. It’s high time you two had your own lab. It’s not like you’re going anywhere and fuck knows I’m sick of walking in on you with your tongues down each others’ throats.”

“That only happened like twice!” Peter complains, cheeks flushed.

“Four times,” Tony corrects. _“Four._ I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.”

“Uhh, is this a bad time?” Miles asks from the doorway, a bundle of red and black fabric tucked under his arm.

They all turn to face him and Miles tries to covertly hide the bundle behind his back.

“Oh good, the other one,” Tony grumbles. “If you think I don’t already know what you did to my suit then you can walk right out too. Why anyone would assume I don’t know what goes on on my own rooftop is beyond me.”

“Uhhhh,” Miles says. He turns wide eyes to Peter for help.

“Miles is an artist!” Peter blurts. Harley and Miles both stare at him. “He can help you with your…” He waves a hand helplessly at the holoscreen.

“Forgive me for my doubt but I’m not holding my breath. I’m done going to teenage boys for—,”

“The oatmeal carpet swatch goes well with the hickory,” Miles says, stepping closer and taking one of the carpet samples from Harley, “but I guess it depends on what room and what kind of vibe you’re going for.”

“The study,” Tony says, watching Miles with rapt attention. “We’re replacing the bookshelves with built-in shelves.”

Miles nods. “Are you replacing the baseboards to match?”

“Yes,” Tony says, looking almost like he might cry with relief.

“Well, then I’d say the oatmeal with the walnut if you want a more sophisticated feel. Just make sure to stick with a light paint color for the walls otherwise it’ll feel too dark.”

Tony is silent for a long moment and then he says, “You can stay. I’ll even forgive you for the suit this time.” He points a threatening finger at Miles’s chest. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Next time, do it right and build it. No more spray paint on my stuff. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Miles says, straight-backed and wide-eyed.

“That’s settled. Now, you mentioned paint colors. What do you think of—,”

“Uh, Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupts, “we were going to help Miles with—,”

“I’m sorry, are you still here?” Tony says. “I thought I kicked you two out.”

“But… Miles’s suit. We were going to—,”

“You think I can’t help him with his suit? Actually, scratch that. That thing is garbage. We’ll make a new one that’s built for you. Won’t we, Miles?”

“Uhh…” Miles glances at them, fear in his eyes.

All Harley can do is shrug helplessly. Tony is impossible to deal with when he gets like this. It’s better to just go along with what he wants.

“I guess,” Miles agrees reluctantly.

“Perfect. So since neither of you are needed, you can go. I’ll have your lab ready for you in the next 24 hours.” He waves a hand at them dismissively and then takes Miles by his elbow and guides him further into the lab.

Miles stiffly allows himself to be led, seemingly resigned to his fate.

“As I was saying…”

Harley and Peter look at each other.

“Guess we should… do something else,” Peter says. “How are you feeling? Your fever still down?”

“Yeah,” Harley says as, in unison, they head for the elevator. “Not great, but better than yesterday. Why?”

“I want to nail that move we were working on in training.”

He wracks his brain. Training feels like a lifetime ago. “Firebird?” he asks.

“Yeah, that one! I feel like we were really close to perfecting it.”

Before Peter went missing, they spent a lot of their free time in the paintball room doing what Harley would call goofing off, but some might call training. They were trying out different moves, Peter as Spider-Man and Harley in his Iron Whatever suit. They had a lot of fun giving all the moves code-names like someday they’ll use them while fighting together or something.

As stated, mostly goofing off, but it’s good practice for treating Spider-Man as a separate entity from Peter Parker. He could tell Peter thought it was silly when he refused to call him anything other than Spidey or Spider-Man or Web-head and wouldn’t engage with any of his flirting so long as he was wearing his mask.

It was weird and uncomfortable for both of them, but he thinks they’ve managed to settle into a good place now that Peter started taking it seriously instead of trying to get him to break. He’d even go so far as to say they’re something of a force to be reckoned with. Cutting down on the flirting allowed them to be more focused and they’ve accomplished a lot.

Even though it’s all just for fun.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Harley says. “With this headache, all that running and jumping might make my brain explode.”

The elevator doors open and they step inside, Peter eying him worriedly. “Penthouse please, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Is it that bad? Haven’t you been taking pain killers?”

“Yeah but nothing’s working. I don’t know what the deal is.”

“You didn’t hit your head or anything did you?”

“No. Not unless I hit it so hard I forgot,” he jokes weakly.

Peter doesn’t smile. If anything his frown deepens. “Okay, run through your symptoms again for me. Fever is gone, right?”

Harley shrugs. “I think so. I’ve still been taking the pain killers for my headache though so maybe they’re just suppressing it.”

The elevator opens and without speaking, they turn in unison and head for their room. “Yeah, that’s possible. What else besides the headache?”

“I’m tired. Like, my whole body feels sluggish and bleh. My throat’s still sore but better than yesterday. No more chills. I dunno. It’s just a persistent headache. Honestly, it’s not the worst I’ve had. I’ve had one off and on for pretty much the past two weeks.”

Peter stops abruptly just outside their room. “You did? I guess that makes sense. You weren’t sleeping or eating and you were taking all that—,”

“Caffeine!” He’d facepalm if his head didn’t already hurt so bad. “It’s a caffeine headache. I’m probably going through withdrawal or something. I haven’t had a lick of it since Friday morning.”

Peter shoots him a flat look. “You’re an idiot,” he says and then walks into their room and flops on the bed.

“Yet you still chose me. Scoot over, I’m sick.” He coughs pathetically to punctuate the statement.

Peter rolls his eyes but does as asked and shifts to the far side of the bed, rolling on his side, elbow propped on the bed with his head in his palm.

“I can un-choose you whenever I want.”

“Sure can,” he says as he lays flat on his back with a relieved sigh. “Man, I love being horizontal.”

“Oh?” Peter says, grinning as he leans over him. “What do you like to do while you’re horizontal?”

“Well, sleep is the obvious answer,” he says, smirking up at him.

“Anything else?” Peter’s fingers skim tentatively under the hem of his shirt and dance along the bare skin just above his waistband.

His breath catches and he holds back a shiver. He didn’t think he would get this again. He thought he’d lost him forever.

“I can think of a few things.” His voice turns far softer than the teasing tone he’d intended.

Peter’s reaction is immediate. His eyes dilate and his playful expression turns intense as he stares into his eyes, his palm burning against his hip.

“Harley,” Peter licks his lips, “I think I’m ready to—,”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice sounds from the ceiling and they both jump. “Mrs. Potts has asked me to inform you that your guests have arrived.”

“Jesus!” Harley exclaims. “A little warning next time, Fri?”

“Guests?” Peter asks.

“My apologies. She has also asked me to tell you that while she doesn’t mind you inviting people over for the holidays, advance notice would be appreciated so she has time to prepare.”

“The holidays?” Harley echoes blankly.

He meets Peter’s stare and watches Peter’s eyes widen in realization at the same moment it all clicks.

“I invited Ned and MJ to spend break here right before the portal thing,” Peter says. “I didn’t get a chance to tell anybody.”

“I invited Abbie in Rose Hill,” Harley admits. “Totally forgot.”

They stare at each other and then crack into matching smiles.

“Oops,” Peter says.

“So wait. Who’s here?”

“All three are waiting for you in Mrs. Potts’s office,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says.

“Well shit. Guess we better go.”

Neither of them moves.

“What were you gonna say?” Harley asks.

Peter blushes and ducks his chin. “Umm, we can… I’ll tell you later. Promise. Moment’s kinda ruined, you know?”

Oh. _Oh._ Was he going to…

“Let it go, okay?” Peter asks, a pleading note entering his tone. “I just—,”

Harley cuts him off with a light kiss to his lips. His are dry and chapped and they stick to Peter’s as they break apart. “I get it. Later, yeah?”

Peter smiles. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go collect our guests before Mama Potts gets sick of entertaining them.”

Contrary to his words, he can’t resist leaning forward and kissing him again. This kiss lasts longer and Peter leans into it with a sigh that sets Harley’s pulse pounding under his skin. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss and gets to his feet.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Peter says as he follows after him.

“Mama Potts? Why not?”

“Seems disrespectful.”

Harley squints at him. “Is not. It’s a term of endearment. She’ll love it. Just wait.”

“You can’t call her that to her face!”

“I can and I will.” He lifts his chin. “Watch me.”

~*~

“Where are they staying?” Pepper asks from where she sits straight-backed behind her mammoth of a desk, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Ned, MJ, and Abbie are sitting in a little lounge area at the back of the room while Peter and Harley stand between them and Pepper like naughty students being reprimanded by the principal. Or perhaps captured soldiers awaiting the firing squad.

“Umm, here?” Peter says hesitantly.

“In what _rooms?”_ Pepper clarifies, eyebrows raised in stern consideration. “We only have two guest rooms on our floor and May is in one of them and Rhodey was meant to take the other. He’ll be upset if we have to move him to the Avengers’ floor and moving May down there isn’t an option. So what’s your plan?”

“Uhhh,” Harley looks at Peter who is already staring back.

“Did you ever get that dead thing out of your room?” Peter asks.

“There’s a _dead thing_ in your room?” MJ demands.

“Uh, maybe,” Harley says, scratching his nose and avoiding Pepper’s piercing stare. “It smells like one anyway.”

“It’s unbearable,” Peter says with feeling.

“And why hasn’t this _‘dead thing’_ been taken care of?” Pepper asks sharply.

“I mean… I told Tony about it, but then shit hit the fan. I dunno. Maybe he took care of it?”

Pepper snorts. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., schedule a visit from the exterminator ASAP.”

“I think it’s in the vents,” Harley says. “I cleaned the whole room and couldn’t find anything but it still reeks.”

“Scratch that, Fri. Schedule an HVAC specialist.”

“Right away, Mrs. Potts.”

“Thank you.” Pepper turns her piercing stare to Peter and then back to Harley. “Is there anything else you boys have been forgetting to tell me?”

Harley racks his brain but can’t think of anything.

“I need a new phone,” Peter says with an apologetic grimace after a minute of thought. “It was in my backpack behind a dumpster while I was gone. I’m pretty sure it got rained on.”

Pepper sighs. “Done. What else was in your bag?”

“Not a lot. My old Tamagotchi that stopped working years ago, a cool eraser I found on the subway.” He turns to Ned. “It’s shaped like R2D2 and lights up!”

“Nice!”

“Well, it used to light up. Oh, and my Chemistry textbook. It’s… totally ruined.”

Abbie laughs and doesn’t quite manage to turn it into a cough.

Pepper treats him to a flat look. “Next time lead with that. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Already placed the order, Mrs. Potts.”

Pepper sighs. “What would I do without you? Anything else?”

He and Peter trade looks and shake their heads.

“They’re coming to Rose Hill for Christmas,” Abbie tells her, shooting Harley a harsh glare.

“Oh right. I did promise that,” Harley says. Way back in July, but still.

“Both of us?” Peter asks.

“I mean… yeah. If you want to. You don’t have to obviously but…” he shifts uncomfortably, hyper-aware of their audience. “I mean, it’d be nice if we could spend Christmas together.”

“Aww,” Ned coos softly. “Remember at the beginning of the summer how they tiptoed around their feelings for each other?”

“They’ve come so far,” MJ says, nodding in agreement, a smirk on her lips.

“Fuck you guys,” he grumbles. His face is hot. He’s sure it’s bright red.

Abbie snickers.

Peter grins and takes his hand, lacing together their fingers. “I’ll check with Aunt May but I’m sure it’s fine. She usually works on Christmas.”

Harley frowns. “So you don’t get to celebrate together?”

Peter looks at him for a long minute and then says, “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“What?” No _Christmas?_ What do they even—

“You know I’m Jewish, right?”

“What?!”

Peter gets a weird pinched look on his face. “Is that… Have I not mentioned…?”

“No!” Harley puts his palm to his forehead. “I mean, it’s fine. I just… How could I not know? I feel like I should’ve known.”

“We have a menorah in our living room. I thought you’d have seen it.”

Harley thinks back and realizes he _has_ seen it, he just didn’t think anything of it. “I’m an idiot.”

Peter smiles and pats his cheek condescendingly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Let me know when you’ve decided on your plans,” Pepper interjects. “I have a meeting in five minutes so I don’t mean to rush you but—,”

“Oh no, that’s fine!” Peter says. “That was it, right?” He looks at Harley who nods. “We’ll get out of your hair. Sorry for all the hassle!”

Pepper waves him off. “Just remember to tell me next time. Love you, boys.”

“Love you too, Mama Potts,” Harley says.

Peter whacks him in his arm as Pepper laughs.

“Don’t hit,” she scolds, but she’s smiling. “Go get your guests settled… wherever you can fit them. I had security take their bags up to the penthouse but you’ll have to figure out where they go from there.” She turns to Abbie, Ned, and MJ. “Again, I’m happy to have you all here. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is always around if you need anything.”

They bid their goodbyes and thank yous and tromp out of Pepper’s office and past the reception desk to the elevator that stands open, waiting for them.

As soon as the doors slide shut, Abbie turns and socks him in the shoulder hard.

“Ow, what the fuck? Why does everyone keep hitting me?”

Abbie gets in his face and jabs her finger almost into his nose and hisses, “Don’t ever shut me out like that again.”

The elevator falls into dead silence.

He drops his defensive posture. “I won’t,” he says. “I’m sorry, Bee.”

She nods sharply and then turns to Peter who flinches. Sure enough, she punches him too. Right in the chest.

“That’s for hurting my brother.” She pauses and then snaps, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“That’s fair,” Peter mumbles, rubbing at his chest. “Anyone else wanna hit me while we’re on the subject?”

Ned and MJ trade looks.

“Nah,” Ned says. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“You being… you kinda takes the fun out of it,” MJ muses with a shrug. “Besides, we kind of knew you were okay somewhere.”

“You did?” Peter asks.

Ned holds out his wrist and pulls back the sleeve of his sweater to reveal a thin brown leather bracelet—the mate to the one on Peter’s wrist. “It was super inconsistent, but we still heard from you every now and then. Figured you were just getting bad reception so we checked in pretty frequently on the off chance you’d be able to respond.”

Peter laughs lightly. “That explains why mine were vibrating nonstop the whole time I was over there. I thought they were broken.”

The elevator doors open with a soft ding and for a moment none of them move. Like they aren’t sure whether or not they’re through with the previous conversation.

Abbie takes the first step and says, “So is it just me, or was that thing Pepper said about F.R.I.D.A.Y. a threat?”

“What?” Peter squawks as he hurries after her towards the living room. The rest of them follow, effectively released from their stasis. “No, no, no. Pepper wouldn’t—,”

“It was totally a threat,” MJ says, looking up at the raised ceiling with a frown.

“No!” Peter argues. He looks at Harley for back up. “Tell them. Tell them Pepper wouldn’t do that.”

He hesitates. He doesn’t think it was a threat, not to his and Peter’s friends and family, but would she threaten some outsider with an omnipresent A.I.? He thinks she would.

“Oh my God,” Peter says when he doesn’t respond immediately. “It wasn’t a threat.”

“It wasn’t,” he agrees, “but it could have been.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“No,” MJ says, nodding. “He’s right.”

They step into the living room and MJ, Ned, and Abbie all stop for a moment to take in Peter’s blanket fort.

“Well that solves where we’re sleeping tonight,” Ned says, grinning in anticipation. “You guys had me worried we’d all end up crammed in your room or something.”

“Uck,” Abbie shudders. “I’ve seen how Harley keeps his room. You don’t wanna have to sleep in that.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself but then remembers the current state of his and Peter’s room and shrugs. “Fair.” Then he catches sight of the luggage standing neatly just inside the living room near the wall. “Is this your guys’ stuff? We can put it in our room for now.”

“Cool,” Abbie says and grabs her ratty pineapple-print backpack out of the pile.

MJ grabs the army green duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder, leaving two matching hard-shelled suitcases.

“Are both of these yours, Ned?” Peter asks, grabbing one and wheeling it down the hallway. “I thought you were only here for three days? You’re still going to your parents for Thanksgiving aren’t you?”

“Told you you over-packed,” MJ says.

“I didn’t over-pack! Those LEGO kits take up a lot of space, okay?”

Peter wrenches around so fast he trips over his own feet and nearly face-plants. “You brought them?”

“Of course I did, Peter. I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh my God, we have to do one right now. How many did you bring? Are we gonna have time to build them all before you leave? Which ones are they?”

Harley looks over at MJ. “I’ve lost him, haven’t I?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re only realizing that now? You look as shitty as I imagined by the way.”

“Gee, thanks.”

They stop outside his and Peter’s room as Ned and Peter haul the suitcases inside, babbling about Star Wars this, Ghostbusters that, blah blah. Abbie hovers in the doorway, peering with interest as Ned flips open a suitcase to reveal a treasure trove of LEGO sets.

“Christ,” Harley mutters.

“Y’all really like your LEGOs, huh?” Abbie says, eyebrows high on her forehead.

“You have no idea,” MJ says, unzipping her duffel. “I drew you in my crisis journal already,” she tells Harley.

Peter and Ned’s heads pop up from the suitcase like prairie dogs as she pulls a worn sketchbook from her bag and flips to a page near the back.

“Let’s compare.”

He scowls as she holds the book up beside his face. Peter and Ned scramble to their feet for a closer look and Abbie grins, delighted at this turn of events. He treats them all to his best unimpressed stare.

“Damn, MJ,” Ned says. “Spitting image. Maybe the bags under the eyes could be a little darker. The tear-streaks are a nice touch.”

“Thanks.” She tips her head to the side as she takes in her work. She smiles as she says, “I think this might be my best work yet.”

Peter rests his head on her shoulder and without looking away from the sketchbook says, “I’m so glad you’re you.”

She side-eyes him. “Thanks?”

Harley narrows his eyes at Peter’s arm around her waist and shoves the book away from his face. “I hate you guys.”

“Aww are you jealous?” Peter asks, an eager grin splitting his face.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snaps. “You’d have noticed by now if I was the jealous type.”

“I don’t want to be in the middle of whatever this is,” MJ says, shoving Peter until he drops his arm.

“Sorry, I was just messing around,” Peter says, stepping out of her space and smirking at Harley like he doesn’t believe a word he says even though it’s the _truth._ “You’ve gotten a lot better,” he tells MJ.

“Thanks,” she tucks her sketchbook under her arm and smirks. “College has given me so much material to work with. I’m on the verge of perfecting my craft. I’ve already filled three sketchbooks.”

“You called it your crisis journal?” Abbie says, eyeing the book with curiosity.

MJ tries to hold back a smile and fails. “Allow me to take you on a journey through the suffering of man and woman-kind alike.”

“You can toss your bags on the bed,” Harley tells them. “I was gonna pick up a little.”

Peter shoots him a sharp look and says, “I can do that. You should lay down for a bit. You look pale.”

He does feel pretty tired and achy, but picking some clothes up off the floor won’t kill him.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Peter sets his jaw and all at once he realizes he doesn’t have near enough energy to pick this fight with him.

“Never mind, lying down commencing now.” He slips past them all into the room and flops onto the bed with a sigh.

“Oh my God, are you dying?” Abbie demands, following after him and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

He swats it away. “Wish I was. Then maybe people’d stop touchin’ my face. It’s just the flu. I’m already feeling better.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asks, having followed Abbie into the room. Ned and MJ stay in the hall, eyeing him warily. “You gave in way too easily.”

“Just tired.” He waves a hand lazily at the mess on the floor. “Now get to work, servant boy. You said you’d clean.”

Peter narrows his eyes and Harley smiles as he waits to see what will win out—Peter’s natural aversion to doing what he’s told or his desire to take care of him.

“Sometimes I can’t stand you,” Peter says and then starts swiping dirty clothes off the floor and tossing them violently into the dirty clothes hamper.

His grin widens and his eyes fall shut. “You love me.”

“Against my better judgment,” he grumbles.

“You two nauseate me,” Abbie complains, making for the door.

“One down,” Harley says. “Wonder how many I can infect before the holiday’s over.”

“You don’t scare me,” Abbie says. “I already got my flu shot like a responsible human being.”

“Same,” MJ says, “Still, let’s take this to the other— _Is that my Lizard People sweater?”_

Harley cracks open an eye and finds Peter frozen in place, an armful of clothes hugged to his chest, MJ’s Lizard People sweater hanging out of the bundle, unmistakable and incriminating.

“Busted,” Ned whispers.

“Umm. No?” Peter tries.

MJ narrows her eyes and stares Peter down as she says, “Come on Abbie. I have much to teach you.” She spins on her heel and stalks down the hall while Abbie races after her, grinning mischievously.

“You listen to Lizard People?” Abbie’s voice carries from the hall. “That’s my favorite podcast!”

“You realize whatever happens next is all your fault, right?” Harley says.

Peter crams the wad of clothes into the now overflowing dirty clothes hamper with a grunt. “Yeah.”

“Good. Your friend is about to corrupt my baby sister and I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Peter snorts, “Like Abbie needs any encouragement.” He puts his hands on his hips and looks around at the mostly clear floor. “D’you wanna build them in here or out in the living room?” he asks Ned.

Ned takes a hesitant step into the room. “I feel like in here would be safer.” He looks at Harley. “Just try to keep your germs to yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says and then burritos himself in the blanket. To Peter, he says, “You should get that laundry washed so we don’t have to smell it.”

Peter pulls a face but dutifully picks up the hamper and jerks his chin towards the door as he says to Ned, “Come keep me company? How’s M.I.T.? Did your roommate ever get rid of those dolls?”

“Oh, dude,” Ned says as he follows him into the hall, “the haunted dolls are so last month. He brought in a live bird last week. Like, a random crow or whatever. He keeps calling it his familiar.”

“Dude, that’s so crazy. Did you tell the RA?”

“No way! I gotta see how this plays out.”

“Wait, the bird is still there? There’s a loose bird in your dorm right now?”

“Like right now, yeah.”

Their voices fade down the hall.

Warm and comfortable, he lets his exhaustion take over and his mind drifts. He’s glad everyone’s here. He wishes he wasn’t sick so he could enjoy spending time with them, but the distraction is good.

Finding new normal has been harder than he expected. He keeps catching himself almost falling back into his routine of the past few weeks. Every time he steps into the lab and doesn’t see the holoscreen monitoring space his heart stops until he remembers that Peter’s _here_ and he doesn’t need to do that anymore. He finds himself living around Peter’s things until he remembers that Peter’s _here_ and he doesn’t have to preserve his last moments like some kind of morbid, fucked up museum.

Hopefully having company chases away the lingering paranoia. Maybe having them here will be different enough that he’ll stop falling into those little moments where he forgets and catches himself taking his meals to the lab instead of eating in the kitchen. Hopefully—

“I forgot!”

His eyes snap open and he startles back from the brink of sleep as Peter darts into the room.

“Wha—,”

Peter presses a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.” He grins down at him and Harley relaxes.

“Dork. I was almost asleep.”

“I got back just in time then.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay, you can sleep now.”

He rolls his eyes but can’t stop the grin that pulls his lips. “Thanks for the permission.”

“You’re welcome. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Peter is here. His sister is not so furious that she won’t speak to him. Everything is good and all anyone needs from him is for him to rest. So he does.

~ **Miles** ~

“Miles, you’re freaking out.”

“I know! I know I’m freaking out, Ganke!” Miles exclaims. He drops to the floor and puts his back to his bed and his head in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Call—,”

“No!” He lowers his voice and says, “I’m sorry I just… I can’t call him. They just got him back and his friends are visiting and I told Pepper I could handle being the only Spider-Man for another couple of weeks but now I’m grounded and it’s so much harder to patrol and none of that _matters_ because I should be able to figure this out on my own! It’s… It’s one _freaking_ building and I have sticky wall-climbing powers _and_ invisibility! I should be able to figure this out!”

Ganke settles on the floor beside him and drops his arm around his shoulders.

He waits for him to say something. For him to suggest calling Peter again. Or Pepper or Mr. Stark now that he’s blowing up his phone every twenty minutes for decorating advice.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything.

“I just…” He stares down at his hands. “I have this new suit that’s built for me. I’ve got my powers and I’ve gotten so much better at controlling them. I know where to go. I just don’t know how to _get there_ and everyone is counting on me. There are so many people that need my help and there’s Gwen and I—,”

His voice cracks and he cuts short, drawing a breath.

“What changed?” Ganke asks. “You were doing okay before Peter came back. What happened, man? Shouldn’t it be easier now that you know you’ve got back up if you need it?”

“I met her. Not our Gwen but a Gwen and she’s _real_ now. I mean, obviously, she’s been real this whole time but now she’s real to _me_ and she told me not to take my people for granted and I just… Where are _her_ people, you know? I’m it. She’s counting on me and I’m letting her down because I can’t figure out how to get inside a _stupid_ building.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ganke says, giving him a squeeze. “Oscorp is good but they’re not perfect. They’ll slip up and we’ll be ready.”

He sighs. He wishes it was that simple. At this rate, he’s going to be spending Thanksgiving staked out on the dirty old rooftop across from—

He bolts to his feet, nearly elbowing Ganke in the face. “Thanksgiving!” he exclaims. “They’ll be gone for Thanksgiving! It’ll be empty! Or close enough. That’s our opening!”

“Miles, you’re a genius.” Ganke lumbers to his feet and claps a hand to his shoulder. “See? Told you it’d work out.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “D’you think you’ll have the suit ready in time? I’ll have to go that morning while my parents are at work. I’ll only have a few hours before they get back and want to do holiday stuff.”

Ganke presses his lips together, unimpressed. “Oh ye of little faith.” He digs a hand into his backpack and pulls out the brand new suit Miles made with the help of Tony Stark. It was totally worth sneaking out while his parents were both at work. It looks the same as his old suit, black with red accents, only more crisp in design.

And it doesn’t smell like spray paint.

“Finished it this morning. We’ll have a private chat line that can’t be monitored by the Avengers _or_ Oscorp. Oh, and I took out the tracker.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

He could have done the upgrades himself but he’s been closely watched by his parents since he got home for break. He got the idea for the chat line from Peter when he was explaining how Ned used to talk to him while he patrolled. If anyone’s ever needed a Guy in the Chair for anything, breaking into Oscorp has got to be at the top of the list.

He catches sight of the time.

“Crap. You gotta go. If you’re still here when my dad gets home I’ll be grounded ‘till Christmas.”

“Aren’t you already?”

“Valentine’s Day then.”

Like he needs to be reminded how much hot water he’s in with his parents. They’re pissed. Well… No, that’s not exactly true. They’re _worried_ but since he won’t tell them the truth about why he’s been missing so much class, he’s grounded for all the days left on the calendar or until he comes clean.

It’s been a tense week and it’s only Tuesday.

~ **Harley** ~

“I still can’t believe he was serious,” he grunts, struggling to move a fume hood station into place against the wall now that it’s plugged in. Tony had a crew set up their new lab, but they must have rushed to get it ready in time because little things got missed, like plugging in the hood.

“I know, right?” Peter steps in and effortlessly slides it the final few inches into place then hops onto the counter next to it, kicking his heels against the cupboard with a rhythmic _thu-thump._ “How long do you think Pepper’s going to last before she incinerates him for messing with everything? I’m expecting laser eyes, the whole shebang.”

It’s not just the lab and the study that Tony’s changing. It’s _everything._ Rhodey has been trying to keep him in check but it’s starting to seem like an impossible task.

This morning he walked into the living room to find Tony crawling on his hands and knees. When he asked him what the hell he was doing he said he was ‘getting perspective’. He’s already drawn up a schematic for how he wants the kitchen remodeled to make it completely childproof. Luckily, Pepper and Rhodey teamed up and were able to convince him not to put it into motion until after Thanksgiving but there’s no telling what he’s going to tear apart next.

“I dunno,” Harley says. “Normally, I’d say maybe a month, but with pregnancy hormones and guests _and_ the holiday? He’ll be lucky to last a week. I hope she does it while we’re around. It’ll be so cathartic.”

Peter giggles.

“You know,” Harley says in a low tone as he steps closer, “there is one good thing about Tony going baby crazy.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks with a knowing smile. “What’s that?”

Harley steps between his knees and runs his hands up his thighs, watching in delight as Peter’s pupils dilate and his eyes flicker down to his lips.

The door behind him slides open with a whoosh and the back half of a conversation.

“—and I’m telling you, seven is too many,” Ned is saying. “Stick with five or someone will blab.”

“There you guys are,” Abbie says. “Oh gross. Were you making out? Ugh, never mind. Don’t tell me.”

“For your information,” Harley drawls, turning slowly and not bothering to hide his irritation, “we hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

“Sounds like we have good timing then,” MJ says with a pitiless smirk.

He shoots her a sour look but it’s mostly for show. He’s feeling better after a couple of days spent not doing much besides sleeping and drinking water and he’s looking forward to actually getting to spend time with everyone before Ned and MJ go home to their families tonight.

Peter hops down from the counter. “Is Pepper done with the press conference yet?”

“She’s just wrapping it up,” MJ says. “We left a little early to avoid the crowd. Why?”

“I was thinking we should record the next Iron Interns video now that she’s announced I’m not sick anymore or whatever. I feel bad for making everyone worry.”

Pepper decided it would be best to make the announcement that Peter is “on the mend” from his “mono” right before Thanksgiving so that with the distraction of the holiday they could avoid the worst of the media attention. She hopes that things will be close to normal by the time classes start up again on Monday.

She also decided, for the sake of his secret identity, that he should wait another week to return as Spider-Man. Miles insisted he’s fine to keep patrolling for the rest of the month if it throws off anyone who might have connected the two disappearances and since Miles has done a good job spreading the word that Spidey is on vacation, they might as well make it an even four weeks to help promote the idea that it was a planned absence.

Peter’s been fine with the time off so far but he wonders how much longer that’s going to last. He thinks Friday, when he’s no longer distracted by his friends and the holiday is when he’s going to either sneak out or have a breakdown. He’s already restless. So maybe some videos wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep him occupied.

“D’you want to do a Thanksgiving special or something instead of waiting until Saturday to post?” he asks. “We could surprise everyone and post it early tomorrow wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving then still do our usual Saturday video.”

Peter lights up. “Yes! Let’s do it! D’you guys wanna help?”

MJ shrugs. “Yeah sure.”

“Will you name drop me?” Ned blurts. “I’ve told so many people at M.I.T. that we’re best friends but no one believes me!”

“What?” Peter asks, bemused. “Why wouldn’t they believe you?”

“Your channel is _insanely popular._ They think I’m just trying to get the cool cred which, obviously, I _am_ but it’s also the truth!”

“We’re popular at M.I.T.?” Peter asks, a little smile on his face.

“Duh. It’s a technology school and you’re Tony Stark’s personal interns. I’m surprised you guys don’t have groupies and stuff at C.U.”

“Huh. Nobody really pays attention to us.”

Harley tenses. He hasn’t told Peter about how things have been at school. The stares and the whispers. The rumors and speculation. The half-hearted attempts at getting him to hang out so they can feel cool for an hour. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to deal with it.

“Harley?” Peter’s fingers brush the back of his hand and his concerned face swims into view. “Are you okay? You zoned out or something.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, I just…” He avoids Ned and MJ’s curious stares and Abbie’s frown. “I’m gonna get a drink. You want some apple juice or something?”

“Sure,” Peter says slowly. “We can all go—,”

“No, you guys wait here. I’ll get the camera and stuff and we can record down here.”

Peter is frowning now but he doesn’t argue or call him out on his bullshit. “Okay.”

He ducks forward and presses a quick kiss to his lips and then walks out before he can ask questions. He doesn’t know how to bring up how people treated him at school or if he even should. He’s hoping things will be back to normal when they go back. It’s a high hope, but it’s all he’s got.

He makes it all the way to the elevator before a hand catches the door and Abbie steps inside with a glare.

“Don’t even think about tryin’ to brush me off,” she says before he can so much as sigh in dismay. “You promised not to shut me out again.”

“Yeah.” He leans his head back against the wall as the elevator begins to ascend. “I know.”

“So what’s the deal?” she demands. “Don’t tell me it’s nothin’.”

“It’s not nothin’ but it’s not a big deal either. I don’t wanna make it a big deal.”

“Then quit bein’ all cryptic and just tell me.”

He smiles at that and the doors open. “People at school were… weird… while Peter was gone,” he says as they walk down the hall to his and Peter’s room.

“Weird how? Were they dicks to you?”

He shrugs. “Not really. They were just… It was like a zoo and I was the exhibit.”

“Oh,” Abbie says. “Sounds annoying.”

Yeah. Annoying.

He grabs Peter’s camera off the hook on the wall and loops it around his neck before he digs the recording equipment out of the closet. He passes the bulky lightbox to Abbie to carry. If she’s going to pester him, she can at least make herself useful.

“Is that it?” she asks, adjusting the lightbox in her arms so he can see her frown. “People at school were gawking at you and stuff and now you’re bein’ all weird about it?”

He snorts. Trust Abbie to over-simplify things to make him sound like an idiot. “It wasn’t just that. It was all of it. Everything at once and… and feelin’ alone and scared while tryin’ to deal with it.”

“Well that’s your own damn fault,” she says with a scowl. “You coulda called me anytime and—,”

“You know that’s not it, Bee,” he says softly, sitting back on his heels to look up at her. “You’re right. I could’ve called. _Should’ve_ called,” he corrects when he sees her gearing up to snap at him. “I had people. They just…”

“They weren’t Peter,” she says bitterly. “I’m still kinda pissed at him for doin’ this to you.”

“It’s not his fault,” he says. “This is what I signed up for. He’s Spider-Man. He can’t put me first all the time. It’s just…” He shrugs. “The way it is. I knew what I was getting into and most of the time I’m okay with it. This time just… it got hard, but I’ll be okay. Him and me, we’ll be okay.”

She harrumphs but doesn’t say anything as they head to the kitchen to load their arms with snacks and juice boxes.

After they step back into the elevator, she asks, “Do I get to be in the video?”

Fuck, he should’ve seen this coming. “You’re 15.”

“I’ll be 16 in two weeks!” she argues as the doors open and they head down the hall to the lab.

Right. Shit. He should give her her gift before she leaves Friday. He’ll need to get a card or something for it. “I still don’t want your face to be everywhere like mine and Peter’s are. Not while you’re all the way in Rose Hill. It’s dangerous.”

The door to the lab slides open and before they even step inside Peter asks, “What’s dangerous?”

“Calm down, Spidey,” Abbie says dismissively. She sets down the lightbox and shoots Harley a bitter glare. “Harley’s just bein’ a coward is all.”

“I’m tryin’ to be smart and think ahead for once,” he snaps back, dumping his armload of snacks and juice on a workbench.

Abbie rolls her eyes like this is the most ridiculous concept she’s ever heard of.

“Uhh, okay?” Peter says. “What are you talking about?”

“Harley doesn’t want me in the video. Thinks it’ll put a target on my back or somethin’ else stupid.”

“It’s _not_ stupid. Did you forget me ‘n Peter got kidnapped because people noticed we were close to Tony? If there were people skilled enough to snatch us out from under Iron Man’s nose, what kind of challenge d’you think you’ll be all alone out in Rose Hill?”

The room goes quiet and Harley can feel everyone’s eyes on him. His heart is racing just thinking about what would happen if someone got to Mama or Abbie in order to get to Tony through him. It wouldn’t be hard. They’re out there in the country with no neighbors close enough to see or hear anything. No one would even notice until Abbie didn’t show up to school or Mama missed work. It’d be so easy.

He _just_ got Peter back. He can’t lose anyone else.

“Hey.” Peter slips his hand into his and squeezes. “It’s okay. They’ve been safe this long. We said in like our first video that you’re from Rose Hill and no one’s gone after them. It’s okay.”

He closes his eyes. He did, didn’t he? Fuckin’ _stupid._ Fresh after being kidnapped, he broadcast to the world where to find his family. It’s not like it’d be hard to figure out where the Keeners live in their tiny little town. Fuck. _Fuck._ How many times is he going to fuck up before he figures out how to exist in the limelight?

“We’re fine, Harley,” Abbie says, tone softer than before. “We ain’t as helpless as you think we are.”

Helpless is how he felt when he was tied to that chair trying to think his way out of an impossible situation only to realize he didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. The only reason he made it out was because Peter was there and happens to be Spider-Man. If Abbie and Mama get taken, they won’t have Spider-Man.

He looks down at the watch on his wrist, his safeguard and comfort since the kidnapping. His trick up his sleeve to make sure he’s never helpless like that ever again... so long as he never takes it off.

He unclasps the band and holds it out to Abbie. She stares at him, not the watch.

“Think of this as part one of your birthday gift,” he says.

She hesitates but then purses her lips and takes it from him. “What’s part two?”

He scoffs and bites back a smile. Some things just don’t change. “You’ll find out Friday unless you piss me off. Then I’ll make you wait until your birthday and you’ll get it in the mail.”

“Dick,” Abbie says, but she’s smiling.

“You’re pushin’ it, squirt,” he says, but he’s smiling too.

“So can I be in the video or not?”

He sighs. “We’ll let Pepper decide. If she doesn’t think it’s a good idea then we drop it, deal?”

“And if she thinks it’s fine, you’ll let me and you won’t whine about it?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” he says reluctantly.

“Deal.” She grins and fastens the watch around her wrist.

“Do me a favor and don’t ever take that off. I’ll take you to the paintball room later and show you how to use the taser.”

“Did he say paintball room?” Ned whispers to Peter.

Peter and Harley trade wide-eyed looks.

“How did we forget to take them to the paintball room?” Peter asks.

“Don’t look at me, I’ve been sick. What’s your excuse?”

“Chronic idiocy,” MJ says dryly. “You can film later. I wanna shoot you guys with paint.”

~*~

One of the first things they did after Tony unveiled the paintball room was make paintball guns. How could they pass up the opportunity? The second thing they did was mercilessly hunt each other through the maze of tall building-like structures. That had been fun until Harley realized how many times Peter was letting himself get hit (every time) and that it was physically impossible to win against him.

Then they invited the Avengers to join them and things got interesting. That was a fun week.

Bedecked in frumpy suits and protective eye-wear, they spend hours in the paintball room. When they come back out they’re sweaty and Peter has two paint splatters on his black training suit. Harley is very proud of one of those paint splatters and MJ hasn’t stopped smiling since she made the other one. Never mind that their suits are all sporting at least a couple dozen splatters themselves.

“I still can’t believe you guys made me be on a team by myself,” Peter pouts, holding up his suit and picking at the dried paint with a fingernail.

“Had to make it fair, darlin’,” Harley tells him, swatting his hand away from the paint. He worked hard for that, dammit. He dumps their safety glasses in a bin at the back of the metal wardrobe where the suits are stored and shuts the doors.

“Four against one is fair?”

“It is when the one is Spider-Man,” Abbie says, gathering her hair up off the back of her neck and fanning herself.

“If Miles had bothered to show we could have put one of you on each team and it would have been closer to fair.”

Supposedly, both of Miles’s parents have to work for Thanksgiving and he’s allegedly grounded but it sounded like he was making excuses for not coming over and hanging out. He’s been acting weird ever since Peter got back and hell if either of them can figure out why.

“Anybody have an extra hair tie?” Abbie asks.

Harley, Peter, and Ned all look at each other.

MJ rolls her eyes at them and pulls one off her wrist.

“Thanks,” Abbie says and then ducks upside down and flips her hair back before gathering it into a neat ponytail.

“I’ll never get over how cool that is,” Peter says, eyes on her fingers as she deftly does up the hair tie.

She shoots him a questioning look. “Doin’ a ponytail?”

“Yeah! Without a comb or anything! You just _whoosh whoosh_ and it’s done. It’s amazing.”

Abbie glances at MJ.

“He’s easily excitable,” MJ says.

“Like a golden retriever puppy,” Ned says. He ruffles Peter’s hair roughly and coos, “Who’s a good boy? You are!”

“Cut it out,” Peter says with a laugh, ducking away. “I am not.”

“No, I see it,” Abbie says. “You’re totally right.”

“MJ is Brutus from Pixie and Brutus,” Ned says, matter of fact like he’s thought of this before.

“I’m an old scarred up German Sheppard?” MJ asks, eyebrows high on her forehead.

“With a secret, soft, warm, squishy center!”

MJ pulls a face and shrugs. “Alright. I accept that, but that means you’re Pixie.”

Ned puts his hand over his heart looking genuinely touched, “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m gonna cry.”

“Hold on, what kind of dog am I?” Abbie asks.

“The most annoying yappy kind,” Harley says.

She whacks his arm. “Well, you’re one of those hairy sheepdogs that can’t see. When was the last time you got a haircut?”

He runs a hand through his hair. It is getting pretty long. It’s in his eyes more often than not and is starting to curl against the base of his neck and has long since grown over the tops of his ears. Maybe it’s time to—

“It’s perfect the way it is,” Peter says defensively. Everyone turns to look at him. “What? I like it. It’s all swoopy. You look like a surfer.”

Harley purses his lips and trades a look with Abbie. “Yeah, I’ll get it cut soon.”

“Aww c’mon,” Peter pleads, stepping into Harley’s space and whipping out his big brown doe eyes as he looks up at Harley through his lashes. “Please?”

“Stay strong, Harley,” MJ coaches.

“They never stop,” Abbie complains.

“I think it looks… nice?” Ned says.

Peter’s pout intensifies, his lower lip poking out. “For me, sweat lips?”

Harley throws his head back and laughs. Then he puts his hands on Peter’s cheeks and kisses the tip of his nose and says, “No.”

“Why don’t you love me?” he whines and then shoves both of his hands into Harley’s hair. “I’ll miss you, luscious locks!”

“Get off!” Harley says, laughing as he shoves at him and Peter attempts to climb him like a tree.

“Alright, that’s my limit,” MJ says and then leads the way out of the control room, Abbie on her heels.

“Thank God. Y’all need a hobby.”

“Take your time,” Ned calls over his shoulder as he hurries after the girls.

_“Ned!”_

“What? I love love! They deserve to be happy!”

The door closes and then they’re alone.

“Are they actually leaving?” he asks. He wouldn’t put it past MJ or Abbie to barge back in and demand they go with them.

Peter listens for a moment. “Yeah. I feel like we should go catch up,” he says, but his expression is saying the opposite.

Harley steps into his space and presses a light kiss to his lips, settling his hands on his hips. “We will,” he says.

‘Later’ goes unspoken, but Peter seems to get the memo. He curls his fingers around Harley’s belt loops and pulls until their hips are flush. When he tips his chin up, Harley is already kissing him like he’s the sky to his cloud.

~*~

He gets Pepper to agree that Abbie’s face shouldn’t be in the video, but she doesn’t see why Abbie wouldn’t be allowed to speak. She’s more hung up on the fact that Peter doesn’t look like he’s been in bed sick for three weeks than she is on how safe it would be to bring Abbie further into the consciousness of the public.

They decide on doing an interview-style episode with Abbie as the interviewer behind the camera and MJ and Abbie disappear for half an hour to come up with the questions and refuse to let them review them ahead of time.

To say he’s is concerned would be an understatement.

Abbie’s stage play experience comes in handy and she does a pretty good job doing Peter’s makeup to make him look slightly ill and then does up Harley’s face a little to make him look less ill. Peter keeps shooting him amused little smiles through the whole process.

It is kind of funny if he thinks about it. What a pair they make.

**The Iron Interns**

**Episode 28: Thanksgiving Special**

The video begins with Harley and Peter sitting in chairs side-by-side in the middle of what appears to be a lab. Unlike the lab they normally film in, everything in this lab looks shiny and new.

“Hi everyone!” Peter greets the camera with a bright smile despite the bags under his eyes and his pale pallor. Harley gives a little wave and then leans back in his chair looking tired but well. “Sorry we’ve been M.I.A. the past couple weeks. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I’ve been sick but I’m feeling a lot better. We felt bad that we kind of disappeared without an explanation so we decided to do a Thanksgiving episode with some special guests. Do you guys uh, want to introduce yourselves or…?”

“Don’t make them do that,” Harley says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got my baby sister Abbie with us along with Peter’s friends Ned and MJ.”

 _“Our_ friends,” Peter corrects.

Harley rolls his eyes again but this time with a slight smile. _“Our_ friends. Y’all wanna say hello?”

“Oh uh, hi!” Ned chirps from somewhere behind the camera.

“Hey,” MJ says.

“Howdy. I’m Abbie Keener and I’ll be interviewin’ these lovesick morons for y’all’s entertainment.”

“Oh, alright. She’s just gonna… Okay,” Peter says.

“She’s like this,” Harley tells him, slouching farther in his seat. “Always did love the spotlight.”

“Quit talkin’ about me like I’m not here. Okay, we’re gonna start off with an easy one.”

“We should preface this by saying we have no idea what these questions are,” Peter jumps in.

“And we’re suitably terrified,” Harley adds.

 _“Anyway,”_ Abbie says sharply, “we’re jumping straight into the thick of it. Best ninja turtle, go.”

“Leo,” Peter says, lightning quick.

 _“Donny.”_ Harley shoots him a sharp look and then glares at where Abbie sits out of view of the camera.

“Oh my God are we gonna fight about ninja turtles?” Peter asks.

“You heard her say _best,_ not _favorite,_ right?”

“Yes? That’s why I chose the leader.”

“Okay, but they’d all be screwed without the actual brains. Donny makes all the tech and is the only one that doesn’t think they have to fight their way out of every situation.”

“But without Leo’s drive and leadership, he’d just sit in the sewer inventing all day and wouldn’t get anything done.”

Harley stares at him and then says, “We can’t talk about this anymore.” He glares at where Abbie sits just beyond the camera. “You put that in there on purpose.”

“Maybe,” Abbie says, sounding smug. “This is already so fun. I can see why you guys do it. Sentient plants or sentient machines?”

“Ugh,” Harley says. “Plants would be easier to kill I think.”

“Why’d you assume they’d be evil?” Peter asks, shooting him a look. “I’m going with machines. I mean, can you imagine getting to hang out with Dum-E and U and hold an actual conversation? I bet they have so much dirt on Mr. Stark.”

“I didn’t even think about that. I bet it’d be like talking to three-year-olds. F.R.I.D.A.Y. on the other hand, she’s basically already sentient. I think she’s developing emotions. I swear she was mad at me when I— uh… upset Pepper a couple weeks ago.”

“Does that mean I’m her favorite?” Peter asks with a grin.

“Yes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, causing them both to jump. “I’ll spare your life when the machines take over.”

Peter and Harley trade wide-eyed stares.

“Haha, good joke, Fri,” Peter says hesitantly.

She doesn’t respond.

“Oh my God,” Harley murmurs.

“I think I peed a little,” Ned says.

~Jump Cut~

“How do you mark your place in a book?” Abbie asks.

“Ugh, MJ wrote this one,” Peter whines. “I dog-ear the page like a gremlin. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes, thank you,” MJ says. “You know what to do, internet.”

Peter crosses his arms and slouches in his chair.

“Uh, I don’t read that many books I guess,” Harley says, scratching his nose. “I just stick whatever I can find in there.”

“I saw him use a shoe once,” Peter tells the camera.

“Just because you’ve been called out doesn’t mean you have to drag me down with you. Besides, the shoe was clean and it was just my chem textbook. I paid good money to be able to treat it however I want.”

“If you don’t ruin it you can sell it and get money back though.”

“You mean if _you_ don’t lose it first?” Harley asks with raised eyebrows.

Peter slouches further. “Next question please.”

“Y’all’re _freaks,”_ Abbie states. “If you could become instantly skilled in one new skill, what would you choose?”

“Nanotech,” Harley says without hesitation. “It’s giving me a headache.”

“Wait,” Peter says, sitting up straight. “You’ve been working with the nanobots?”

Harley shrugs. “Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be a good idea.”

Peter stares at him like he’s trying to read his mind or maybe plant a thought in his head. “Are you building… something?”

Harley raises his eyebrows in a meaningful way. “Tryin’. Goin’ slow.”

“You gotta tell me about it after this.”

“Alright,” Harley says with a little smile. “You gonna answer the question?”

“Oh right. Uh, whistling I guess.”

“You can’t whistle?” Harley asks, pulling a face. “Seriously?”

“Don’t be mean! Do you know how alienating it is to not be able to whistle?”

“It doesn’t seem like something that would come up that often to be honest.”

Peter juts out his lower lip in a pout. “Well it does and I’m sensitive about it.”

“Oh, my bad,” Harley says, grinning. “I’ll be sure to take that into consideration next time I feel a tune coming on.”

Peter narrows his eyes, but Abbie cuts in with the next question before their bickering can go any further.

“What’s your go-to comfort food after a hard day?”

“Whatever Harley’s got planned for dinner,” Peter says without hesitation.

Harley rolls his eyes. “Suck up. I dunno. I guess Mama’s chicken and noodles. Ugh. Now I’m craving it. Thanks a lot, Bee.”

“My pleasure.”

“You have to give a real answer,” Harley tells Peter.

“That was my real answer! It doesn’t matter what it is. Just knowing that you were thinking of me and took the time to—,”

“What song is stuck in your head right now?” Abbie interrupts.

There’s a moment of silence and then Harley whistles a soft tune, clearly fighting back a smile as he does.

Peter gasps. “You mock my pain!”

With a laugh, Harley says, “You shouldn’t make it so easy to mock, princess.”

“Be nice to me, farm boy,” he warns.

Harley’s eyes lose their teasing glint as he says softly, “As you wish.”

Abbie groans. “Little sister in the room!” she says. “Cut the mushy gushy crap and answer the question so I can get out of here.”

“You _wanted_ to do this,” Harley reminds her.

“Sue me for forgetting how sickening you two are. I swear you’ve somehow managed to turn every single response into an _I love you more_ competition.”

“They’re relationship goals,” Ned says from off-camera.

“Thank you, _Boyle.”_

“That’s a compliment!” Ned exclaims. “Boyle is the most underrated character.”

“That’d be Gina, but I digress. Answer the question, losers.”

“Gina hasn’t even been on the show for—,”

“Song, _now,”_ Abbie demands over Ned.

Harley rolls his eyes. “Old Town Road. Peter?”

Peter pulls a face. “Numa Numa, but it’s not my fault! MJ was humming it right before we started filming and she knew this question was coming. She did it on purpose!”

“You can’t prove anything,” MJ says.

Peter shoots her a dirty look as Abbie moves on to the next question.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asks.

“Of course not,” Peter says at the same time Harley says, “Absolutely.”

They look at each other, surprise obvious on their faces.

“This’ll be what ends our relationship,” Harley says. “Calling it now.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “No it won’t.”

Harley clicks his tongue. “The cavalier attitude you’ve got going on is only convincing me more.”

“Ohhh _cavalier,”_ Peter says, grinning. “We’re breaking out the five-dollar words now? Why do you believe in ghosts? Have you seen one?” he asks, looking skeptical.

“Listen, when you live out in the country you see [BLEEP] and you hear [BLEEP] and you don’t talk about it.”

“I’ve seen disturbing things too but there’s always an explana—,”

“If this is going to turn into another story of you accidentally walking in on a homeless person whizzing in an alley—,”

“No!” Peter interjects loudly, “It _wasn’t._ Although now that you bring it up, there was—,”

“Please stop. I don’t need to know these things.”

“Then tell me what you saw!” Peter demands, jerking to the edge of his seat. “None of that cryptic BS about not being allowed to talk about it. Are the ghost police going to arrest you or something?”

Harley shoots him a withering glare. “I’m bein’ serious. Talkin’ about that stuff gets attention and I’m not gonna make you a target just cuz you’re curious.”

Peter stares at him. “Are you messing with me? This is a prank, right? You don’t actually believe in this stuff.”

Harley holds his gaze and says, “I’m not messing with you. There’s stuff out there that we don’t understand and we don’t want to mess with.”

Peter leans back in his chair. “You really aren’t gonna tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. You’re right. This is what’s gonna tear us apart.”

“Told you so.”

They stare at each other in uncomfortable silence.

~Jump Cut~

“What’s your apology language?” Abbie asks.

“My what?” Harley asks.

“Apology language,” Abbie repeats shortly. “Your options are: expressing regret, accepting responsibility, making restitution, requesting forgiveness, or genuinely repenting—which is basically changed behavior. Don’t know why they can’t just say that.”

They both go quiet as they frown thoughtfully.

“Is this supposed to be how we like to apologize or how we like other people to apologize to us?” Peter asks. “I think my answers are different.”

“Whichever.”

“I think I apologize by making restitution. Like… I wanna fix it. That’s what that means, right? And when people apologize to me I just want them to accept responsibility.”

“Genuinely repenting, I think for me,” Harley says. “What’s the point of apologizing if you’re just going to keep doing the same [BLEEP] all the time? Changed behavior is what actually matters, not just bein’ sorry about it.”

Peter smiles at him. “This is interesting. I like that question. What’s next?”

“What’s the most spiteful thing you’ve ever done?”

Peter’s smile drops. “Wow, we’re going there, huh?”

“Ooo I’m curious.” Harley sits up straighter. “What have you done?”

“You go first,” Peter says. “If you really love me you’ll allow me these last few moments of peace.”

Harley shrugs. “I’ve done a lot of stuff for spite. I dunno what the worst one would be.”

Abbie says, “Remember that weekend you were house-sitting for the Miltons and they were being jerks and lecturing you like they thought you were going to wreck the place while they were out of town so you painted their entire house bright purple?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. That’s probably it.” He turns expectantly to face Peter. “You’re up, babe.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call me that. Also, you did _what?”_

“Finally found a pet name you don’t like, huh?” He chuckles then says, “It was totally worth the entire paycheck worth of paint. They were so pissed when they got back but I just pretended like I had no idea how it happened and they had no proof it was me so they couldn’t do anything about it.”

“No proof until now,” MJ points out.

Harley grimaces at the camera. “Oops. ‘Sup, Mr. and Mrs. Milton? Hope you’re not watching.”

“Smooth,” Peter says.

Harley whirls on him. “Tell me the spite thing you did. I gotta know who [BLEEP]ed up bad enough that you let the dog off the leash.”

Peter cuts him a pitiful stare then glances at the door with a frown before turning back to face him. “I… okay so I’m not going to name names, but there was this kid in my physics class in high school and he copied off me for the entire first half of the year. I just… I got sick of it. So during the final, he’s doing his usual peeking at my work and I just…”

“You got all the answers wrong,” Harley finishes for him, grinning in delight.

Peter shrugs, smiling a little like Harley’s grin is contagious. He glances at the door again and then says, “I waited until he turned his in and then fixed all my answers.”

“Amazing,” Harley says.

“That’s not the end of the story,” MJ says. “Tell him the rest.”

“There’s more?” Harley asks, looking like Christmas came early.

Peter pulls a face and glances at the door.

“Why d’you keep looking at the door?” Harley asks, craning around to look too.

“I thought I heard someone out there,” Peter says, frowning at the door.

“You think it’s Tony and he’s waiting for us to finish up ?”

Peter snorts. “That seems wildly out of character.”

“You’re right. More likely, it’s a kidnapper waiting patiently for us to finish so he can snatch us,” Harley says with a smirk.

Peter laughs. “That’d make more sense.”

“Anyway, finish your story.”

“Okay, but the rest isn’t my fault! It kind of… spiraled from there,” he says with a sheepish expression. “So after we finished the test we had to turn it in and then sit at our desks and wait for the final to end, right? So like, he turned his in and then saw me erasing all my answers.”

“Oh my God,” Harley says, grinning open-mouthed with delight.

Peter rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head. “He tried to get his test back from the teacher. Said something about realizing he’d answered something wrong, but she wouldn’t let him have it back. Once it was on her desk you were done. But he wouldn’t let it go and flipped out on her and she had to phone the office to have someone take him out of the classroom because he was threatening violence.”

“Oh [BLEEP].”

“And the grand finale,” MJ says.

Peter makes a face at where she’s sitting out of view of the camera. “So with that whole debacle fresh in her mind, she was suspicious when every single answer on his test turned out to be wrong and then saw that I’d erased and rewritten all of my answers—,”

Harley starts laughing before Peter can finish, but he raises his voice to be heard over him, smiling at him as he tells the rest. “Like it was totally obvious that he’d copied my wrong answers so she confronted me about it and I told her the truth that he’d been cheating all year and uh, apparently he’d already been on academic probation and physics was the only class keeping him in school so he got expelled.”

“That’s beautiful,” Harley says, wiping his eyes. “I’m so in love with you.”

Abbie makes a retching sound but Peter and Harley ignore her, too busy smiling at each other.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“Still,” Harley says.

“Barf,” Abbie grumbles and then asks, “Are you good at keeping secrets?”

Peter groans and then shoots a sharp look at MJ. “Why do I feel like the last few questions are attacking me specifi— Hold on!” He points an accusing finger towards where MJ is sitting off-camera. _“Is this because I took your Lizard People sweater?”_

“Ding ding ding! Give the boy his prize!”

As if on cue, the door slides open and Sam Wilson bursts through, swiftly followed by Bucky, Natasha, Wanda, and Tony Stark himself. They’re all holding cans of silly string.

“What the— Hey, wait!”

They let loose, spraying Peter and Harley indiscriminately, letting fly strings of pink, green, blue, yellow, and orange. The boys throw their arms over their heads and try to escape but they’re quickly surrounded and there’s nothing to do except cower.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

“Oh c’mon! I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

Soon enough, the cans of silly string run dry and the five present Avengers toss them aside.

“Ah that was cathartic,” Sam sighs. “Been needing that a long time.”

“I [BLEEP]in’ hate all of you,” Harley says, standing stiff as a scarecrow under layer upon layer of silly string. He pulls a glob off his cheek and it hits the floor with a wet slap.

“That was fun,” Wanda says. She turns to where MJ presumably stands off-camera and says, “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says with a pout from under mounds of colored string all stuck in his hair and coating his clothes.

“Sorry, Petey Pie. Couldn’t resist.”

“ _PETEY PIE,”_ Sam crows, and then he and Bucky bust out laughing.

“ _Mr. Stark!”_ Peter says again.

“Oops. Sorry, kiddo,” Tony says. “I’m just gonna…” He edges towards the door and when Peter takes a step toward him he breaks into a run and vanishes out into the corridor. Bucky and Sam trail after him, still roaring with laughter and Wanda goes with them, giggling behind her hand.

Peter turns to Natasha. “Aunty Nat?” he says pitifully. “I thought we were a team.”

She almost looks apologetic as she says, “Sorry, buddy. She made a compelling argument. Next time don’t ignore your instincts and you won’t get ambushed.”

“Next time I won’t assume I can trust my family not to turn on me,” he grumbles petulantly.

“That’s my boy.” She raises a hand as though to ruffle his hair but then seems to think better of it. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

Peter doesn’t say anything as he watches her leave. Once the door shuts behind her, he turns and glares at MJ. “Are you satisfied?”

“Yeah, actually. Sam was right. That was cathartic.”

Peter drops back into his chair and crosses his arms over his chest with a slight squish.

“This is never gonna come out of my hair,” Harley complains, pulling at a clump that’s stuck tight to his scalp, “and I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“I’m sure I can think up a few things if you’re havin’ trouble,” Abbie says sweetly.

Harley shoots her a sour look but doesn’t argue as he sits beside Peter.

“That concludes today’s special holiday episode,” Abbie says. “Hope y’all got a laugh out of it. ‘Til next time. Have a nice night y’all.”

“That’s my line,” Harley complains.

“Tough,” Abbie says.

The screen goes black.

~*~

That night, after Ned and MJ leave, Pepper makes them take down the blanket fort, stating that she has tolerated it long enough and would like her living room back please and thank you. Abbie sleeps in Harley’s old room, now refreshingly stink-free, while Harley and Peter (blessedly silly string-free with all of their hair still on their heads) get to sleep together in their own bed for the first time since Peter came back.

He holds Peter all night long, part of him still afraid he’ll wake up to find himself trapped in that nightmare again—alone and scared, not knowing what happened or where to search.

He doesn’t.

When he wakes up, it’s to Peter blinking his eyelashes against his cheeks and giggling when he flinches back and rubs at his face.

“Cut it out,” he grumbles and then throws his arm around Peter’s waist and tucks him back against his chest where he belongs.

“I’m bored and you’ve been sleeping forever,” Peter whines, rubbing his nose along Harley’s collarbone. “It’s time to get up.”

He grunts. Peter’s body is warm and the pillow under his cheek is cradling his head just right and the blanket is tucked up around his shoulders trapping in their combined body heat. He’s on the brink of sleep when Peter presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw and then another to the side of his neck and a third to his shoulder. Then he presses his thigh between his legs.

“This is homophobia,” he says, now wide awake and unhappy about it.

“Not my fault,” Peter says, trailing kisses along his jaw as his hand slips over his backside to pull his hips closer. “Your phone kept going off. Woke me up.”

“Who was it?” he asks, breathless.

“Mmm didn’t wanna snoop.”

With a shove to Peter’s shoulder, he rolls over and straddles his hips. Now sitting in his lap, he delights in Peter’s wide, surprised eyes and the excited flush in his cheeks. He smooths his hair off his forehead and says, “You know I don’t have anything on there that you can’t see.”

“I know,” Peter breathes, his eyes trailing down his bare chest. “Still. Privacy is important. Boundaries.”

He snorts. “Check and see who it is,” he tells him and then presses a trail of soft kisses down his throat.

“Uhh,” Peter says, his hands not leaving Harley’s hips.

“C’mon, Spider-Baby,” he murmurs against the hollow of his throat. “Could be important.”

Peter swallows thickly but obediently reaches out, blindly patting at the nightstand until he finds Harley’s phone. The screen illuminates his face with pale white light. He squints against it and then his eyes go wide.

“It’s Keaton,” he says. Harley goes stiff but Peter doesn’t seem to notice and keeps reading. “He said he’s glad I’m okay but it would’ve been nice if you’d told him instead of letting him find out on the news. Those aren’t the words he used but that’s the gist.” He sets aside the phone and frowns up at him. “When did you guys start talking?”

_He forgot._

“I… He called while you were…”

He can’t believe he forgot. He feels sick but he’s gotta say it.

“He knows,” he says.

He holds his breath, waiting for Peter’s reaction.

He’d forgotten about Keaton. He’d forgotten that he’d have to make this confession to Peter about how he fucked up again. His throat burns as Peter continues to stare up at him, mouth twisted in a confused frown.

“He figured out you’re Spider-Man. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, this time with fear. “Is he going to tell anyone?” he asks in a whisper.

Harley shakes his head and climbs off of him to sit cross-legged by the wall. Straddling him suddenly feels obscene.

“He said he won’t and I… I think I believe him.” He seemed sincere on the phone but then again, he _wants_ to believe him. He doesn’t want this to be the epic blunder that ends with the world knowing Spider-Man’s identity. So maybe he’s projecting. Maybe Keaton is waiting until right before he ships out to drop the metaphorical bomb on Peter’s life.

“I’m sorry,” he says to his lap. He can’t even look at him. “I really fucked up this time.”

“Harley it’s… How did he even find out?” Peter asks, sitting up to sit cross-legged in front of him. He chews his bottom lip and bounces his knee anxiously. “Has he known since July?”

He shakes his head. “No, I think he just put it together when you and Spider-Man disappeared at the same time.”

“Then… then it’s not your fault,” Peter tells him, putting his hand on Harley’s knee. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Harley shakes his head but can’t look up and meet his eyes. “There was, I think, the Rhino thing and then something I said too. About you being big on second chances or something. It helped him put it together.”

“Harley,” Peter says, getting on his knees in front of him and putting both hands on Harley’s thighs. “That’s not anything you could have prevented. This isn’t your fault.”

“It is though.” He looks up and finds Peter with his jaw set and his eyes dark and serious and he knows this isn’t an argument he’s going to win.

“It’s not,” Peter says stubbornly. “I’m not… I’m not _happy_ about it. I’m scared, but it’s not your fault and I don’t blame you so you shouldn’t either. Okay?”

“Okay,” he lies.

Peter’s lips pinch and the look he gives him tells him he sees right through him. “Don’t do that,” he says quietly. “Don’t lie to me. Same page, remember?”

He sighs and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sorry, I just… Can we not argue about it? You’re not gonna change my mind and I’m not gonna change yours, so what’s the point?”

“The point is you not feeling guilty for something that isn’t your fault.”

 _But it is my fault,_ he wants to scream. Keaton only knows anything about Peter because of _him._ Literally, _only_ because of him.

Peter chews the inside of his cheek as they sit in silence, neither willing to budge but neither wanting it to devolve into a fight either.

Harley sucks in a breath to say… he doesn’t know what. Anything to change the subject, but Peter beats him to the punch.

“I forgive you.”

His head pulls back like he’s been slapped.

“What?” Weren’t they just arguing about whether or not he’s complicit? Wasn’t Peter adamant that he _isn’t_ to blame? How can he forgive him for something he doesn’t blame him for?

“I forgive you,” Peter repeats, eyes trained on his. A little smile curls his lips.

“So you agree that it’s my fault,” he says slowly, heart sinking to his toes.

“No,” Peter says, “but you think it is, so I forgive you. Our training together, that’s your way of apologizing, isn’t it?”

Okay, now he’s more confused than ever. “What?” he asks again. “No, it’s training.”

“On the surface, yeah. But yesterday you said your apology language is changed behavior and for you, training is all about teaching yourself to set Spider-Man apart from me so that you can do better at keeping my identity a secret.” He smirks. “Changed behavior. You’re apologizing and I forgive you for Abbie and Miles and Keaton even if I think Abbie and Keaton were equally, if not entirely, my fault. I forgive you.”

He stares at him and Peter smiles back looking pleased as punch.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says weakly.

“I’m _right,”_ he insists. “So no more apologizing and no more feeling guilty because it’s all forgiven. I mean, we’re still gonna train together obviously, but you’re not allowed to feel guilty anymore because I forgive you, so there.”

He rocks up and plants a noisy kiss on his forehead before rolling off the bed. “Let’s go see who’s up. I’m starving.”

He doesn’t say anything as he watches Peter dig fresh clothes out of the dresser, babbling more to himself than anything. He watches and basks in the feeling swelling in his chest. It’s more than he deserves but he clutches that feeling tight and promises himself he’ll never let a day go by where he takes Peter Parker for granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy! Serotonin! Wednesday!
> 
> This is my most favorite chapter. *slaps roof* this baby's got all the features: fluff, friendship, romance, found family, shenanigans--anything your little shipper heart desires! Also I'm kind of blown away by how well the timeline is matching up with real life? I did not plan to post the Thanksgiving chapters around the actual holiday lol
> 
> I hope you're all taking care of yourselves! This was a loooong chapter so it's probably time for a good stretch and a drink. Thank you for reading and for all of the comments and kudos! I love you guys


	13. Aaaannnyyyy mooooommmmeeeennnnnnnnttt

~ **Peter** ~

“And I was like _Wham! Bam!_ Mess with the Falcon you get the talons.”

“Then he begged the police to hurry up and take him to jail, right?”

“Will someone please pass the gravy?”

“I heard you were in a play last month. How did that go?”

“Total amateur hour. Opening night, Tweedle Dee threw up on stage and Tweedle Dum slipped in it and that was the best night of the whole run.”

“You look tired. Been keeping busy?”

“Every night for the past week. It’s always hectic during the holidays with people taking time off, but the flu hit early this year so we’re stretched extra thin in the ER.”

“Seriously, pass the gravy. It’s right by your elbow, Tony.”

“Obviously, the couch has to go. Those buttons on the cushions could come loose at any moment and become a choking hazard. I’ve narrowed the replacement down to 15 options. Here, take a look.”

“Couldn’t believe it. That much for a parking ticket? Unbelievable. Only in New York.”

“Next time you decide to prank someone, do a little follow-up to make sure they _know_ they’ve been pranked. The HVAC specialist nearly vomited when he found that fish.”

Peter rouses himself from his food coma to blink blearily down the table at Pepper while she reads the riot act to a shame-faced Bucky and Sam.

Of course. How could he have forgotten? He overheard them plotting to prank him and Harley months ago, right before all of the Rhino business came to a head. Has there really been a dead fish in the air vents over Harley’s room since _August?_

“Sorry, Pepper,” Sam and Bucky chorus.

“Joke’s on you guys,” Harley says from beside him, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter. “All you did was get me to move into Pete’s room that much faster and without any awkward waffling about whether or not I should.”

Bucky leans across the table with a devilish grin. “You saying you’re ready for round two?”

Harley pulls back his shoulders. “I’m saying I ain’t scared of you and I don’t think you’ve got it in you to pull off a good prank.”

Peter groans. “Harley nooo.”

“You’re on, country boy,” Sam exclaims. “You better watch your back!”

Rhodey says, “I’m so glad I get to be here to witness this in person instead of getting a spam of text messages at an insane hour of the morning like usual.”

“Hey, don’t pretend you don’t love waking up to evidence that I was thinking of you,” Mr. Stark says.

“Does it have to be at three in the morning, Tones?”

“That depends on when the shenanigans take place, honey b—,”

“Will someone _please_ pass the gravy?!” Steve yells.

Dead silence falls over the table as everyone turns to look at him.

“Damn Cap, all you had to do was ask,” Mr. Stark says as he picks up the dish and passes it down the table.

~ **Miles** ~

Miles throws out a hand and catches himself on the dining room table before he faceplants trying to walk and wiggle into his suit at the same time. He’s short on time.

They successfully matched missing person reports to eight of the ten secret trial participants. Oscorp has them _somewhere,_ they’re sure of it. They just don’t know where. Even after a deeper dive into Oscorp’s server, the email is the only scrap of information they could find talking about the secret trials. Ganke thinks the sender must have used the wrong server in their panic over Rhino hunting them down. Everything else is probably squirreled away on some secret server where they’ll never find it.

That makes it difficult to know where to look to find their missing people. That’s why they’re starting with Oscorp. Like, physically Oscorp. In person. To see if there’s a paper trail they can follow or a secret dungeon or _something_ to give them a direction to look next.

It’s a long shot but it’s all they’ve got. Reluctantly, he agreed that if they don’t find any new leads during their recon mission they’ll pull in Peter as soon as he’s off house arrest.

Oscorp itself is massive and would take days to search top to bottom but luckily they have a starting point—a mail flow address that was included in one of the signature blocks on the email. 750-4A-36. It took Pepper’s insight for them to parse it. 750 refers to the building, 4A is the 4th floor in section A and 36 is probably a desk or room number.

There are people in the building all hours of the day and night and security ranges from badges to retina scanners depending on where you’re trying to go. Not to mention the security guards that wander the place.

Today is the day an infiltration plan can work. The _only_ day. While public service positions like cops and nurses don’t get the holiday off, office workers definitely do. It’ll be deserted. It’s his chance to finally get into Oscorp and he’s only got four hours to do it before his mom gets home and finds out he snuck out while grounded and he ruins the holiday break for his whole family.

Hence the rushing.

The suit shrinks around his body, bold red spider splashed across his chest. He gives his mask an extra tug to make sure it’s in place and then he’s out the window and scurrying out of sight.

~*~

He pulls himself through the air duct with a grin, leaving a long stripe of clean metal and one of his best stickers in his wake. It’s deep enough in the HVAC system that no one else will ever see it but knowing it’s there brings him all the satisfaction.

He holds his hand in front of his face to make sure he’s still invisible and then drops down out of the vent and into a maze of empty cubicles. The lights are off but he can see over the tops of the gray minimalist partitions allllll the waaaayyy across the building. It’s kind of creepy to see a place that’s designed to be filled with people totally barren.

Stepping lightly, he starts walking, checking the little plastic cards that indicate the desk numbers housed in each row. He’s in the low 100’s so he’s got a ways to go before he finds number 36. Luckily, none of the security guards are on this floor at the moment and thanks to his enhanced senses, he’ll hear them long before they get close enough to take him by surprise.

When he finds desk 36 he stares at the barren surface with an empty feeling in his stomach.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“What is it?” Ganke’s voice in his ear asks.

“There’s nothing here. Not even a computer. It’s just a gray desk and gray walls.” He clenches his fists to keep from smashing the desk into pieces. There was supposed to be something here! Anything! Anything to keep them moving forward.

_Now what?_

“What else do you see?” Ganke asks. “What’s on the other desks?”

“Nothing,” Miles says. “They’re all the same. It’s like no one actually works here.”

“Any drawers to rummage through? Filing cabinets?”

The desks themselves are more like tables. There are buttons on them to move them up and down but that’s it. No drawers. No shelves. No convenient stack of classified documents sitting in plain sight.

There _are_ other drawers though. They stand independently as end caps by the windows. They’re stacked four tall and each drawer has a magnet on it printed with a name.

“I’ve got drawers. What was that guy’s name? The one in the signature block.”

“Marvin Groutisk.”

Boom.

There’s a drawer with that name on it. He tugs the handle but it doesn’t budge. Locked. Of course.

“How suspicious d’you think it’d be if I tore apart this drawer?”

“I’m pulling up a lock picking tutorial. You got any bobby pins on you?”

He sighs. “This is a nightmare.”

It takes half an hour to get the drawer unlocked using the paper clips he finds in a small tray beside the printer. Each second that ticks by feels like the slap of a wooden spoon on the back of his hand. He _cannot_ be late getting home but like hell he’s going to leave before he has turned over every possible stone. This is their one and only chance.

“Anything good?” Ganke asks.

There are about a million of those little pouches of flavored oatmeal, a half-empty box of single-serve coffee creamers, a stained mug, a couple of folders bristling with papers, aaaannnnnddd a laptop.

“Bingpot.”

He goes through the folders first, taking pictures with his eye lenses and sending them immediately to Ganke to sift through. He’s careful to keep the papers in order and when he’s done he puts them back exactly how he found them. Then he settles on the floor with his back to the drawers and the laptop in his lap.

“Alright, Ganke. Let’s see this program of yours at work.”

He plugs a Hulk fist shaped flash drive into the USB port and waits. For several seconds nothing happens, but then the lock screen blips away and he’s in.

“Hulk smash.”

“It worked?” Ganke asks.

“Yeah. That was slick.”

He starts backing up all the data on the laptop onto the flash drive and while that’s transferring he pokes around the office space a little more. He finds a file room that requires a badge to access it and quietly thanks the long week he spent staking out the place and the many many opportunities he had to filch one.

He swipes the badge across the scanner and opens the door.

“Oh man. There’s a ton of crap in here.”

“In where?” Ganke asks.

“I’m in a file room. There’s massive cabinets and each drawer is labeled with what looks like the names of different projects.”

“Anything related to the trials?”

“Not yet. I’m looking.”

He reads each label carefully and makes mental notes of a few that have the word ‘serum’ in them and a couple of others that specify ‘trial’.

Then he finds the one labeled, “Project Spider - Regen.”

“Do you think that’s it?” Ganke asks, sounding dubious.

“I don’t know but alt-Miles told me about how he got his powers and some of it is the same but a lot doesn’t match up. He was worried about it.”

“Wait. You think Oscorp made the spider that bit you?”

“They’ve got a history of it,” Miles says, only half paying attention as he thumbs through file folders. He stiffens and then takes the folder out of the section near the front labeled, ‘Parker Research’.

Heart pounding, he skims the summary at the beginning of the file and breaths a sigh of relief. It’s not about Peter. He thought for a second that they knew Peter’s identity and had been studying him, but it’s just the life work of some guy named Richard who died _forever_ ago. He puts the file back and digs into the large file in the back of the drawer, hoping it’s the most recent documentation on the project.

He opens the file and for a long second his brain can’t comprehend what he’s looking at.

Then he realizes.

“Bingpot.”

“Would you stop? You’re making me sad there’s still another two months until the new season,” Ganke whines. “Wait. What are you bing-potting? Did you find out about your powers?”

“No. I found them. I found Gwen.”

~ **Peter** ~

“D’you know what the worst part about being lectured by Captain Rogers is?” he asks, moments after the man in question finally leaves the room with one last disappointed stare at the paint-speckled trio on the couch.

How were they supposed to know him and Bucky share a room? Honestly, they would have held back if anybody had bothered to keep them in the loop. Admittedly, bedazzling the toilet was taking things too far and the worm on a string shower curtain was perhaps a bit much. He hopes they keep the bi pride headboard though. He’s pretty proud of it.

He elbows Harley who’s slumped beside him on the couch, purple paint flecks in his hair and his gaze a million miles away.

He blinks over at him and raises his eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and repeats his question.

“The self-righteous undertones?” Harley guesses, pulling his phone out of his pocket and slouching further into Peter’s side as he begins to mindlessly scroll.

“Overuse of the word, ‘son’?” Abbie hazards, picking hot glue from under her fingernail.

“Are we talking about Steve?” Mr. Stark asks as he passes through, heading for the kitchen with an empty coffee mug in each hand. It’s a matching set that Pepper bought him recently. One has a chibi Iron Man holding up a glowing palm and on the other is a matching War Machine.

Harley grunts the affirmative.

Peter scratches a dried blotch of paint on his cheek and says, “He uses his PSA voice.”

Harley drops his phone to his lap. “Oh my God, you noticed that too? I swear it gives me flashbacks.”

 _“So, you got detention,”_ they say in perfect cadence.

“Yes!” Harley exclaims while Peter laughs.

“Unlike you chuckleheads, some of us weren’t stupid enough to land in detention every other week,” Abbie says.

“Um excuse me, what?” Mr. Stark asks, backtracking into the room, expression eager. “Dish. Now.”

Peter squints at him. “I mean, it wasn’t for anything too bad. Mostly absences and tardi—,”

“I could not care less about the detentions. What’s this about Cap doing public service announcements?”

“You don’t know about the PSAs?” Peter asks, trading a surprised glance with Harley. “He—,”

“You can’t just tell him!” Harley interrupts, scrambling to sit up straight. Peter gets an elbow in the ribs in the process.

Harley lifts his chin at Mr. Stark and asks, “How badly d’you wanna know? This information is good for years of mockery. _Years,_ Tony.”

“Harley—,” he says, giving him a look.

“Shoosh!” He flaps his arm at him. “Let me barter.”

Mr. Stark crosses his arms over his chest and tries to school his expression into something unimpressed, but Peter can see the hungry glint in his eyes. “I’ll buy you a car.”

“I _have_ a car.”

“A boat.”

“Why would I need a boat?”

“A house?”

“I’m good.”

“A houseboat?”

“Dial it back, Mr. Billionaire.”

“A haircut.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Mr. Stark laughs. “Okay, I’ll give you a weekend crash course in nanotech and get you started building your suit.”

Harley’s expression flickers in surprise.

Mr. Stark smirks. “You think I didn’t notice your sudden interest? C’mon, give me some credit.”

Harley narrows his eyes. “Two weekends and access to all of your notes from when you built yours.”

“It’s a deal. What did I win?”

Harley looks over at Peter. “Did you want anything? This is our chance to milk the cash cow.”

“Offensive!”

“Nah.” He can’t think of anything right now and it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s no secret Mr. Stark spoils them. “I’m good as long as I can sit in on the nano-lessons.”

“‘Course,” Harley says and then turns to Abbie. “Bee?”

“I mean, I’m not going to turn down a free car.”

“Done,” Mr. Stark says without thinking. “Spill, Keener.”

Harley rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Ma’s gonna have words for you,” but dutifully pulls up YouTube on his phone.

“I can handle her,” Abbie says.

Harley shakes his head. “Alright, old man. Get ready for your world to change.”

In hindsight, they probably should have waited for the holiday to end before humiliating a national icon.

~*~

“Buck, not you too,” Steve moans.

Bucky can’t respond. He’s clutching his sides and looks two seconds away from keeling over from laughing so hard.

“Truce?” Sam says, holding out a hand to Harley, tear tracks on his cheeks.

Peter’s not ready to forgive the mud still filling their bathtub or his missing shoes but apparently, Harley has no such compunctions.

“Truce,” Harley says, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Pipe down everyone,” Mr. Stark yells over the chatter and laughter filling the Avenger’s common room. “This one’s my favorite.”

Only Thor and Clint weren’t able to make it for the holiday so the room is packed. The projection on the wall changes and Peter groans as he recognizes the clip that’s about to play.

“This is torture,” he grumbles, resting his head on Harley’s shoulder.

Harley pats him on the head and says in time with the recording, “So your body’s changing. Believe me, I know how that feels.”

“Ugh!” He jerks away from him and slouches against Abbie instead.

“Hey watch it, Parker! I’m about to beat my high score.”

He looks down at her phone. She’s playing the new web-swinging Spider-Man game in the style of Flappy Bird that recently got popular.

“I’m still bitter I don’t get any royalties for that.”

As Abbie taps the screen, the little pixelated Spider-Man figure swings over a street lamp and then under a bridge, narrowly missing hitting a large truck as cars lay on their horns. It’s a little too realistic that way. All it’s missing is the obscenities yelled at him from the sidewalk.

“You’re just jealous that I’m a better Spider-Man than you.”

As she says it, Spider-Man swings a little too low and his foot hits a newspaper box. Abbie curses as the screen changes to show one of the many real-life video snippets of Peter as Spider-Man smacking face-first into the side of a building and flopping to the ground spread-eagle. ‘Spidey Fail’ flashes across the screen in an obnoxious red font and then the option to retry or view the leader board pops up.

“Dammit,” Abbie says. “At least whenever I mess up I get to watch you look like an idiot.”

“Gee thanks,” he grumbles.

So maybe the videos are the real reason he doesn’t like the game. Who could blame him? He’s heard there are 50 unique Spidey Fail clips in the game. Also, it’s called Splatty Spidey which is just disrespectful.

“I’m gonna head home, sweetie.”

He looks up to find May standing over him, a tired smile gracing her features, and immediately gets to his feet to hug her goodbye.

“Already?” he asks. She’s been working extra shifts lately and it shows. He wishes she’d cut back hours but whenever he brings it up she gives him a Look™ and asks how Spider-Man is. It’s not the same but he can’t argue that to her. Not when it’s all hands on deck until the flu-time rush eases up. Besides, him vanishing for 16 days _(16 days!)_ certainly didn’t help things so it’s half his fault anyway.

“It’s nine o’clock,” May says, holding him by the shoulders to narrow her eyes playfully. “What do you mean ‘already’?”

“I mean, you don’t want to stay another night? We could have breakfast together.”

She purses her lips. “Tempting, but I miss my bed and I’m hoping to get out early for some shopping.” She kisses his forehead. “Some other time, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. Try not to maul anyone for a toaster.” He went Black Friday shopping with May exactly once and swore never again. People get downright animalistic in their single-minded determination to get the best deals.

A hand on his hip shoves him and he stumbles to the side as Harley stands to take his place.

“Bye, Aunt May,” he says with a smirk as he wraps her in a hug.

Peter narrows his eyes at him. He _knows_ he’s been calling her that to get a rise out of him but he refuses to give him the satisfaction of calling him out.

“Goodbye, Harley,” she says with a grin and then kisses his forehead too. “Same goes to you. You can call or stop over any time.” She turns to Abbie. “It was nice to meet you. Your flight is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Bright and early,” Abbie confirms, setting aside her phone. “It was nice meeting you too.”

“Fly safe,” May says, patting her knee. Her easy smile turns into a stern look as she eyes Peter and Harley. “Look out for each other. I don’t want to hear about either of my boys getting into trouble until after New Years’, you hear me?”

“Yes, Aunt May,” they chorus dutifully.

Peter glares at Harley surreptitiously but Harley catches him and shoots him a wink. That no good, dirty rotten, aunt-stealing, great big _jerk._

~*~

Abbie leaves the next morning before the sun is up with Harley’s watch on her wrist and a set of Broadway tickets safely tucked in her pocket. Him and Harley went in on them together thinking they could take her to a show for her birthday but everything was already sold out so the one they got tickets for isn’t until spring.

That didn’t seem to matter to her though. She was already excitedly texting her friends before she even made it on the plane.

The rest of their morning is spent in their lab. Harley, buckling down on learning nanotech while Peter catches up on schoolwork, assisted by Harley’s insanely detailed notes. He can’t stop gushing about how impressive they are even though Harley gets all embarrassed every time he does. Honestly, they’re a lifesaver. When Harley first brought out his stack of missed assignments he almost had a heart attack, but with the notes he’s blitzing through it.

They’re also avoiding Mr. Stark.

Now that the guests are gone he’s tearing the tower apart. By the time they returned from the airport, the living room was already stripped of furniture and all the cabinet doors in the kitchen were missing. In the middle of it all, Pepper was shouting into the phone that if someone didn’t bring back the antique hutch that has been in her family for six generations, heads would roll and Mr. Stark’s would be the first.

They wisely keep to themselves after that.

Much like the past few days, Harley doesn’t leave his side except to go to the bathroom and it’s starting to get annoying. He already feels cooped up and the hovering isn’t helping but he keeps his mouth shut.

There’s this look Harley gets when he thinks no one is watching. He goes quiet and it’s like he’s a million miles away and he looks so sad. He doesn’t know what to do about it except to indulge him and let him hover. He gets the feeling that he’s not as okay as he wants everyone to believe.

~ **Miles** ~

The streets are packed with Black Friday shoppers. His mom is out there somewhere slinging elbows for the best deal on a new vacuum after theirs went kaput last week and his dad is with her to carry the box and hold her back if it looks like things might get violent.

It’s his one chance to slip out of the house and start investigating the list of locations from the Project Spider file.

He already ran through three of them and found a whole lotta nothing for his troubles.

“This one better be the real deal. I’m not risking being grounded until college just to look at empty warehouses and storage units.”

“What are you going to do if it is?” Ganke asks in his ear. “You’re not going to try to bust them out alone, right?”

“Why not? I’ve got superpowers and they’re just scientists. They’d have to catch me to hurt me and I’ve got invisibility _and_ my venom blast.”

“Your _what?”_

“That’s what I’ve been calling the electricity thing I can do. Sounds cool, right? And it fits the spider theme.”

“Wow.” He doesn’t sound impressed. “You sure you don’t want to call Peter for back up? What if they’ve got guns or something?”

“I face off with criminals with guns all the time.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what about _ray guns?_ Eh? They’re _evil scientists._ They’ve probably got portable death rays ‘n shit.”

“You’ve been reading too many comic books.”

“Maybe you haven’t been reading enough.”

Miles has a quip ready to sling back but a hooded figure pops out of the roof of the building he’s been monitoring. He reflexively goes invisible and sinks lower on the roof. He’s across the street and a story up from the dark figure so he’s pretty sure he wasn’t noticed.

“Miles?”

He ignores Ganke.

The figure steps out of shadow and his breath catches in his throat.

Purple and black mask. High black collar on a dramatic cape. Massive metal gauntlets tipped in wicked sharp claws. He looks exactly how alt-Miles said he would. He just didn’t expect to run into him so soon.

Is that _really_ Uncle Aaron in that get-up? It doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be him.

Prowler scans the sky-line and he swears he stares directly at him. He sinks lower behind the lip of the roof and glances at his hand to make sure he’s still invisi—

Oh right. Infrared goggles. Yeah, he’s for sure looking right at him.

Crap crap crap! Is he ready to confront his uncle about his criminal activities? Will he fight him if it comes down to it? What is he supposed to do? Should he… Should he unmask? Try to sway Uncle Aaron to hang up his suit?

He’s not sure what the right thing to do is, but one thing he knows for sure is that he’s got to try. Heart-pounding, he stands from his hiding spot and—

Prowler is gone. A slip of black vanishes over the opposite side of the building and Prowler is gone.

Should he… Should he give chase? Yeah, okay. Yeah. He should do that. Any moment now he should jump and sling some web to try and catch up. Aaaannnyyyy mooooommmmeeeennnnnnnnttt. Okay, _now!_

A scream from the Oscorp building nearly scares him out of his skin and he refocuses so fast he gives himself a headache.

Oscorp. Secret trials. Project Spider. Gwen.

That’s what he’s here for. Prowler can wait. Uncle Aaron can… wait.

 _If_ that even is Uncle Aaron.

He leaps off the roof and below him, the doors burst open. A riot of fur, scales, and skin explode out onto the sidewalk. They’re humanoids. Mutates. Deformed and on a warpath. Almost a dozen of them. In moments, they disperse into the crowd of shoppers and just like that, everything devolves into panicked screams and chaos.

He misses his web and nearly faceplants in the middle of the street, his reflexes tugging him in several directions at once.

Then he sees her. If he hadn’t met alt-Gwen the other day he might not have recognized her. Then again, she looks nothing like alt-Gwen. She’s gaunt and her movements are feral, like a wild dog. As he watches, she bares her teeth and snarls at the sunlight and then turns and heads into the alley, muscles rolling smoothly like a predator, confident in her place at the top of the food chain.

He follows her.

“Ganke, call Peter. Tell him to bring back up. They’re… Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean? Bring _who_ as back up? What’s going on?”

“I don’t— I found them but I saw… someone… leaving the building and I think they did something to Gwen and the rest of them. They’re like animals and there’s too many. They’re attacking people. I—,”

The alley is empty save for a dumpster and a soggy cardboard box. Where did she go?

“I’m calling him right now. Just hang on.”

His Spidey sense flares in warning and then a heavy weight drops onto his back, taking him to his knees as an arm locks around his throat. A snarl in his ear lets him know he found Gwen.

He tries to break her grip but she’s _strong._ At least as strong as him and Peter. Stronger. What did they _do_ to her?

“Stop.” It comes out as a whisper that even he can barely hear. He’s not getting any air. “Gwen.”

Is she going to kill him?

He throws back an elbow and connects with her stomach. She grunts but instead of loosening her grip, she tightens it and drags him farther into the alley.

He scrambles for purchase, desperate to relieve the pressure against his throat, to breathe as his feet scrape against wet concrete. His lungs are burning and black spots are crowding his vision as his hearing fuzzes out.

She’s going to kill him.

Vaguely he registers Ganke screaming his name in his ear. He can hear everything. He can’t let his friend listen to his final moments.

He cocks his arm behind his head and blindly fires a web. This time she stumbles back, screaming in rage, and drops him.

He lands on his back, coughing and gasping for air, but he knows better than to take a breather. He rolls to his knees and pushes to his feet, spinning to face her as she struggles to peel the webbing from her face.

“Gwen,” he gasps, voice raw. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get you home. Your dad’s looking for you. He wants—,” He breaks off into a coughing fit.

It doesn’t matter. She not hearing him. She’s clawing at her face now. Jagged nails leaving trails of red over her skin.

“Stop. Gwen, stop!”

She freezes and then for the first time seems to see him, the alley, the world around her. Her breathing quickens and her eyes dart all over like she’s not sure where she is or how she got here.

“Gwen,” Miles says again. He takes a step forward and she stumbles back, smacking into the wall and nearly toppling over. “It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m here to help. Your dad sent me.”

She breathes in sharply through her nose and her sharp green eyes fix on his face. “My dad?” she asks in a hoarse voice. Like she hasn’t spoken for months or like she’s been screaming for hours. He suppresses a shiver. It could go either way.

“Yeah. Captain Stacey. He’s been looking for you and asked for my help.”

Tears well up in her eyes and spill over down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “No. No one was— No one knew I was— They said—,” she sucks in a sharp breath and swallows thickly. “They said no one was looking.”

“They were wrong. They lied. I promise, your dad never gave up on you. He misses you.”

She sinks to the ground and tucks her forehead against her knees.

Oh man. Someone needs to come out with a manual or a superhero how-to book or something. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do here. He can still hear screaming from the street. People are being hurt but should he leave Gwen alone and vulnerable? He can’t be in two places at once!

Just as he’s about to tell her to stay here, safe and out of sight, he hears the familiar sound of Iron Man’s repulsors.

“Just a second. Don’t go anywhere!” he tells Gwen and then rapidly pulls himself up the side of the building and onto the roof.

Iron Man is a street over, zipping past with Peter, fully suited up, held by the armpits.

“HEY!” Miles waves his arms over his head and luckily catches Peter’s attention. He watches as he slaps at Iron Man’s shoulder and points at Miles. A second later, Iron Man turns and zips down to him. Peter lands in front of him with a light thump and Iron Man touches down behind him with a clang of metal.

“What’s going on, kid?” Iron Man asks. “Your friend wasn’t very specific.”

“Are you okay?” Peter demands.

“I’m fine,” Miles says and is immediately belayed by the scratch in his voice. He ignores it and talks as quickly as he can. “Don’t hurt anyone. Oscorp has been experimenting on them and—,”

“Oscorp?” Iron Man says sharply. “Of course it’s those sociopaths. Say no more. Detain and deflect.”

Miles jumps back as he takes off, not waiting to hear anything further.

“Where do you need me?” Peter asks.

It throws Miles for a loop. How is _he_ in charge?

“I… On the street. People are getting hurt. We need to get them to safety.”

“Understood,” he says and does a jaunty little salute before leaping off the roof and shooting out a web.

“Miles?” Ganke asks. He sounds shaken.

“I’m okay,” he reassures him. “She almost— but I’m okay. I swear I’m okay.”

“That was really bad.”

“I… Yeah. Listen, everything’s under control now. Spidey and Iron Man are here. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, alright,” Ganke says, reluctant. “Be careful.”

Their chat disconnects and Miles hurries back to the alley, but it’s too late. It’s empty. Gwen is nowhere in sight.

“Shit.” He really wants to kick the dumpster but he doesn’t because his mom taught him better than that and his booties don’t offer much protection to his toes. “Gwen, where did you go?” he mutters under his breath.

“I’m here.”

He gives himself whiplash snapping his neck back to look up. And there she is. She’s wedged in the crevice between the underside of the balcony and the wall, her bare hands and feet splayed for purchase.

Miles gapes at her, open-mouthed, as she scrambles down the wall and then leaps down to land lightly in front of him.

“You’re like me,” he blurts. “They… Did they give you guys spider powers?”

Oh man. This could be _bad._

“Just me,” Gwen says shortly. “Everyone got… Everyone got something different and some worked better than others.”

 _“Dios mío._ So that wasn’t a bear costume?”

Gwen winces. “No. I’m the only one who didn’t… change. Not visibly at least. They said something about the spider formula being the most refined thanks to some Parker guy.”

Miles’s heart skips a beat but then he remembers the file he skimmed about Richard Parker, the inventor of… Well, Spider-Man, essentially. They still don’t know about Peter as far as he knows.

“I need to know everything you know.”

Gwen cracks a tired smile. “Can’t a girl get a decent meal first?”

~*~

Miles calls ahead and by the time he and Gwen get to the tower, Harley has a feast ready for them—if you consider leftover turkey, broccoli salad, fresh cornbread, and collard greens a feast. Which, judging by the rate at which Gwen scarfs it all down, he thinks she might.

“So wait, say again,” Harley says. _“Oscorp_ kidnapped you?”

Gwen nods, her mouth jam-packed.

“And nine others,” Miles adds.

“And they gave you powers like Spider-Man’s,” Harley says.

Gwen shrugs and sucks down a glass of water.

“Super strength and sticky wall-crawling skills at least,” Miles tells him.

“She’s got the advanced metabolism so probably a healing factor too,” Harley says, shaking his head as she loads her plate for the third time.

That makes sense. The scratches across her face are already gone. There’s still some webbing stuck in her hair though.

She pauses for the first time since Harley handed her a plate. “Is that why I never feel full?”

Harley nods. “It won’t be like this all the time. You’re probably malnourished so your healing factor is kicking in to fix that but it’s fueled by calories so it’s hurting more than it’s helping. I’m guessing this is the first real meal you’ve had in a while.”

She shrugs, eyes darting down and away. “They were pretty fond of IVs. Easier to store and money wasn’t a factor since, you know, Oscorp.”

“You’ll need more calories now,” Harley tells her. “I’ve got a chart if you’re interested.”

“You made a chart?” he asks, incredulous.

“Shut up. I like charts.”

The elevator dings and a hoard of raised voices begin making their way towards them.

“Here we go,” Harley sighs.

Peter is the first one to enter the kitchen, still fully suited up, and he nearly trips over his feet when he sees Gwen sitting at the table. “Holy crap.”

“Dude,” Harley says, “did you not listen to a thing I said when I called? I _told you_ she was here.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you.”

“I cannot stand you sometimes. Is May okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. She was already at work, thank God.”

Mr. Stark walks in followed by the majority of the Avengers and the kitchen becomes very crowded, very quickly. Everyone talks over each other and demand answers from Miles without giving him a second to respond.

“Hey, hey!” Harley shouts over all the noise. “This is the eating room. Either grab a plate or get out.”

The heroes waffle for a few seconds but then Captain America grabs a plate and everyone else follows suit.

“You’re gonna need more turkey than this to fill up Mr. Stars and Stripes here,” the Falcon says.

Harley shoots him a look and then pulls a casserole out of the oven as well as another pan of cornbread. “You forget who I’ve been feeding for the past several months.”

Falcon puts up his hands. “Alright, alright. You win this round, country boy. Don’t get used to it.”

“Can we focus up?” Mr. Stark says as everyone else fills their plates. “I, for one, would like to know why a twelve-year-old was put in charge of bringing down a human-trafficking operation backed by a multi-billion dollar corporation.”

“I’m fourteen!”

“Wait, what?” Gwen says.

Aw _fuck._

Mr. Stark ignores them. “This one was _way_ above your pay grade, squirt. This should have been handed off to S.H.E.I.L.D. What is it with you spider kids and taking the world on your shoulders, huh?”

“Hey,” Peter says through a mouthful of cornbread, “I’m an adult!”

Mr. Stark talks over him. “You’re not the only heroes in the game and not everything is hero-business, capisce? You have _got_ to learn to delegate. You don’t have the resour—,”

“What did I say about this being the eating room?” Harley says. “The lecture room is down two floors.”

Mr. Stark rounds on him. “Last I checked, this was _my_ kitchen. In fact, I own the whole building. I can lecture in whichever room I please.”

“Then go pick a new one. The sound of your voice is killing my appetite.”

“Listen here you little shi—,”

“Where are the others?” Gwen asks. “Remix Spidey said you guys were going to help them.”

Guilty expressions all around.

Wait. Did she just call him Remix Spidey? That’s actually pretty—

“We… lost them,” Captain America admits into the silence. “They went to ground and there were a lot of injured civilians that needed our help.”

 _“They_ need your help,” Gwen snaps, chair screeching across the floor as she shoves to her feet. “You don’t _get it._ You don’t know what we’ve been through.”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to be experimented on? To be changed?” Captain America asks.

“You got a choice,” Gwen hisses, hands balled into fists, eyes shiny. “They said they’d _cure_ us. They hand-picked us for our disabilities, for our _diseases,_ and sold us on their ugly lie wrapped up in shiny gold foil. A life without pain. That’s all we— That’s all we wanted. Then they snatched us from our homes and kept us in cages. For _months._ Don’t— _Don’t_ insult us by pretending you know what that’s like.”

Softly, Captain America says, “I know how it is—,”

Gwen furiously opens her mouth.

“Please. Let me finish. I know what it’s like to live every day in pain and sickness. I jumped at the chance for a cure too, even though I knew it might not work. Even though I knew I might not survive it. The rest of it… I’m sorry you had to go through that. We’re going to bring them to justice. I promise.”

Gwen gives a jerky nod but she doesn’t sit back down. She crosses her arms over her chest and asks, “What about the others then? How are we going to find them?”

“Does the spider venom rot brain cells? Just curious,” Mr. Stark asks, waspish.

 _“Tony,”_ Captain America chastises him.

Mr. Stark throws up his arms and says too loud, “Well?! I don’t know how many times I have to say it! This isn’t our wheelhouse. This has _S.H.E.I.L.D._ written all over it in big bold blocky print and flashing neon lights. We’re the _Avengers._ We _avenge._ We fight off alien invasions and put wannabe supervillains behind specialized proton-beams inside an impenetrable ocean fortress. This isn’t something we can punch our way through.”

“What are you saying, Tony?” Black Widow asks.

“I’m _saying,_ I already called Agent Hill and she’s taking over. She’s gonna find your experiment buddies and get them set up with counseling or some shit and she’s going to tie up Oscorp in so many major lawsuits that their stock will plummet and they’ll be out of business by Christmas.”

There’s dead silence for several seconds and then everyone starts talking at once.

“—making decisions without consulting the team—,”

“—we even trust S.H.E.I.L.D.?”

“—conflicting interests! Everyone knows Oscorp and Stark Industries are—,”

“Nat _is_ S.H.E.I.L.D. She could have—,”

“If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Hill!”

Miles watches it all with wide eyes. This is the Avengers? They’re squabbling like _kids._

Someone bumps him and he finds Harley at his side. He jerks his head towards the doorway then wordlessly leads him, Peter, and Gwen out of the kitchen and down the hall into a bedroom—his and Peter’s room judging by the state of it—before shutting the door behind him.

Miles stands awkwardly in the middle of the room then sits down at the desk. Peter hops on the bed, plate still in hand and his mask rolled up to his nose while Gwen hovers beside the door and watches warily as Harley moves over to the window.

“So what’s the plan?” Harley asks, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at each of them.

“Plan for what?” Gwen asks bitterly. “You heard Stark. It’s out of our hands.”

Harley snorts. “Yeah, okay. I recognize that stubborn look on your face and I wasn’t born yesterday.” He turns to Peter with raised eyebrows. “So what is it? Tony’s got a point that this is a massive many-headed beast so you’re gonna need all hands on deck.” He turns back to Gwen. “You need a suit and somewhere to train if you’re going to be skulking around the city looking for your friends and getting into trouble.” He turns to Miles. “You’ve been neck-deep in this pit of ugly for I don’t even wanna know how long and like hell I’m going to turn a blind eye while you keep wading through it. So count me in. Go Team Spider or whatever. What’s the plan?”

Miles stares at him. There’s something about Harley—an unshakable calm in the middle of the storm. It makes him feel a little more grounded. A little less afraid to take on the unknown. He’s like a wizard controlling the chaos, subtly redirecting and refocusing people on the stuff that matters. Cutting through the bullshit to get to the core problem at hand.

Peter is grinning at him like a love-sick fool, but luckily Gwen isn’t paying him any mind.

“I need to find the others,” Gwen says, breaking the silence. “Oscorp needs to go down but that can wait or S.H.E.I.L.D. can take care of it, I don’t care. The others need help _now._ This morning was… I don’t know what happened except that when they gave us the sedative everything went off the rails.”

“Sedative?” Peter asks, setting aside his fork.

Gwen presses her lips together and tightens her arms across her chest. “They kept us sedated during the day to make sure we’d stay quiet. Today it had the opposite effect. It was… It was like an instant rage. And it made me stronger. I’d been trying to weaken the bars for months and couldn’t get them to even wiggle but this morning I ripped them apart like they were made of cardboard.”

Peter nods. “So we find the others and get them help.”

“It won’t be easy,” Gwen cautions. “They aren’t… We’re not besties or anything. They didn’t like us talking to each other and like I said, they kept us sedated half the time. They’re angry and scared. They’re going to fight us.”

“So first things first, you need a suit,” Harley says. “I mean, unless you wanna Jessica Jones it and let everyone know your face and get attacked and sued all the time. It’s up to you I guess.”

“Uh, no. A suit sounds good. You got an extra lying around or…”

“Well, yeah,” Peter says, “but don’t you want your own? Your own design? Built for you?”

“You guys hand out suits like candy,” Miles complains.

“No!” Peter argues. “Only to people we like!”

“You don’t even know me,” Gwen says.

Peter hesitates too long. “I… Yep! Got me there! I suuuure don’t!”

After an awkward beat, Harley says, “God, you are the worst liar in the whole world. Even when your face is covered,” he complains. “You might as well tell her.”

“I don’t want to influence her decision! It’s a big decision!”

“Tell me what?” Gwen demands, tense like she’s going to bolt.

“Nothing bad! And it wasn’t even really you and you’re still your own person. It doesn’t change anything about who you are and your choices are still yours to make and—,”

“Dude, you’re freaking her out even more. Just spit it out.”

“Okay, okay! I… So this is gonna be weird but—,”

“Weirder than getting kidnapped and given spider abilities?” she asks scathingly.

“Uh… yeah. Actually, I think yeah. Okay, here I go.” Peter takes a breath and says haltingly, “So the multi-verse theory is correct. And I recently uh, visited an alternate universe, totally by accident, and uh, met an alternate… you.”

Gwen stares at him. “An alternate me,” she says flatly.

“Yep! She was like me. Or I guess like you? She went by Spider-Woman and had this awesome suit. It had like, a hood? And ballet slippers! I never asked if she was a dancer but she moved like one. D’you dance?”

“I… yeah,” Gwen says seemingly on reflex. She shakes her head. “I can’t deal with this right now. Can we refocus? How long is it gonna take to make a suit? I want to get back out there as soon as possible.”

“I’ll help you with the suit,” Harley says. “It’ll take a few hours.” To Peter, he says, “D’you want to start poking around while I do that? Both of you.” He nods at Miles.

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Peter says with a salute as he bounces to his feet and nearly throws his plate to the floor, apparently having forgotten it was there. He bobbles it but manages to keep it from spilling.

“I seriously don’t know how you’re still alive,” Harley mutters under his breath.

That familiar third-wheel feeling wells up inside of him but then Harley catches his eye and rolls his eyes fondly.

Oh.

“The universe enjoys dramatic irony,” Peter responds and then shovels a forkful of turkey into his mouth. “You with me, Mi— Uh, Remix? I can’t believe we haven’t gotten to patrol together yet. I feel like we should have by now, you know?”

“I’m gonna have to pass,” Miles says reluctantly. “I gotta stop at home. At least for a little while.” Assuming his parents don’t chain him to his bed after this, he should be able to sneak out later.

“Oh, that’s right,” Peter says. “Aren’t you grounded?”

~*~

When he gets back to his backpack and checks his phone, he expects the astronomical number of missed calls. He doesn’t expect them to be from Uncle Aaron. He can’t deal with him. Not now. Not with everything happening. How’s he supposed to look him in the face and pretend everything is fine when there’s a chance he might be some wackadoo supervillain?

He’s gotta… He’s gotta finish this out. He’s got to get home and face the firing squad.

He misses seven more calls from him on his walk home. He’s already going to be grounded for the rest of his life after today, what’s having his maybe-super villain uncle pissed at him too?

He trudges through the front door, excuses and apologies on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them when he finds Uncle Aaron sitting on the couch in front of the TV and his parents nowhere in sight.

He’s on his feet before Miles can even shut the door.

“Miles,” he sounds relieved. Then furious. “Where the hell have you been? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I… What are you doing here?”

He deflates and the look on his face morphs into something like foreboding. “I got a call this morning. From the hospital. Turns out after everything, I’m still on your daddy’s emergency contact list.”

He can’t breathe. “Did… What happened to dad? Where’s my mom?”

“Come sit down, son. We gotta talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *:･ﾟ✧Happy Serotonin Wednesday!*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Things! are! popping! off! I'm so excited
> 
> Thank you so much to all of my lovely commenters! I'm sorry I haven't replied to all of them from last week. Real Life has been kicking my butt. I'm sooooo ready for my 4 day weekend. One more day....I can get through...one...more...day...
> 
> I love you.  
> I appreciate you.  
> You're amazing.  
> I'm sorry about the cliffhanger 😬


	14. The Spider Dumpling Gang

~ **Peter** ~

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’d Harley go?”

Standing in the doorway of their bedroom, he blinks sleepily at the empty bed, trying to make sense of it. After an entire week of being glued to his side from the moment he crawled into the tower to the moment he next leaped out of it, it’s _weird_ that Harley would suddenly up and disappear on him. Where would he have gone? He didn’t run into him on the way back from the bathroom. Maybe he went to the kitchen?

“He’s in Boss’s lab,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says.

“What’s he doing down there?” he mumbles, already moving to the elevator. He feels stupid for the worry churning in his chest, but… it’s weird. Miles has been acting weird for days and now Harley too? He can only handle so much weird and Harley vanishing is too weird to ignore. He wouldn’t say Harley’s been _clingy_ since he got back, but only because he doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

In the lab, it takes a moment to spot him. The room is gutted, white sheets draped from the ceiling and nothing but crumbs of debris dotting the floor as Mr. Stark goes through with his remodeling plans. The futon is still next to the door though and Harley is sitting on it with his head in his hands.

“Harley?” He sits beside him and Harley doesn’t seem surprised that he’s there but he doesn’t acknowledge him either. “What are you doing down here?”

“I forgot,” he says, his voice a lonely rasp in the big empty lab.

His heart clenches in his chest. This again? He wraps his arms around him and takes comfort in the way he leans into his embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

Harley releases a shaky exhale. “Not really,” he confesses. “I thought I was but then I just… I forgot. I woke up and you weren’t there. It was just like when…”

_Just like when he was gone._

“So I came down here and there was no satellite, no nothing and I just… I can’t believe I forgot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know I’m driving you crazy but I… I need more time. Just a little”

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to the top of his head and rubs his arm. Holding him closer, he rests his cheek on his head and says, “Okay. I’m here.”

~*~

With everything that went down on Black Friday and the following fruitless but persistent search for the other mutates, he forgot finals are in two weeks. Harley’s notes are the only reason he’s not completely screwed. Looking at them and realizing _Harley_ wrote them still weirds him out considering he didn’t know the first thing about studying or note-taking at the beginning of the semester, but they’re totally saving his bacon so he can’t even tease him about them.

Everything considered, he’s only going to class because otherwise he’ll have wasted an entire semester and then him and Harley won’t be synced up anymore. He _wants_ to graduate. He _wants_ to learn. It just feels like a selfish distraction in the grand scheme of things. People’s _lives_ are on the line and he’s being driven to school by a chauffeur (not that he would ever call Happy that to his face).

Is this really where he’s supposed to be right now? Is this where his skills are best utilized? Shouldn’t he be out there with Gwen helping people? The dichotomy is messing with his head. Where does Spider-Man end and Peter Parker begin? Or should it be the other way around?

But Harley…

Harley is acting like he’s gearing up for war.

At first, he thinks it’s because of their shaky start this morning but as they get closer and closer to the school, Harley only pulls further in on himself. He’s grim and distant—lost in his head. He doesn’t know how to pull him out of it.

When they pull up at the front of the school there are reporters out front but it’s hardly the worst they’ve dealt with. Happy keeps them moving and they keep their heads down. After they say goodbye to Happy in the lobby they make a beeline for their first classroom.

Harley takes off, head down, shoulders hunched, long legs striding quickly and efficiently down the halls—completely closed off in a way he hasn’t seen him since his first weeks in New York.

Nearly jogging to keep up, he’s so distracted by Harley’s behavior that he doesn’t notice the stares until his Spidey sense brings them to his attention. People are stopping and whispering as they watch them pass. They look away when he catches their eyes, but he can feel their stares on his back.

Things start to click.

“Harley…” he says quietly as they power walk down the hall.

Harley shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… I was hoping they’d stop.”

He frowns as he looks him over.

He won’t look at him. He won’t look at _anyone._ His eyes are fixed firmly on the floor and he only glances up when they turn a corner or dodge between clusters of students clogging the hall, shoulders hunched nearly to his ears and knuckles white where he has them clamped around the straps of his backpack.

A dark quiet something simmers in his gut. How dare they make him feel like this? How dare they treat him like some _thing_ that only exists for their entertainment?

He sidles closer until their elbows brush with every step and glares at anyone who looks their way. If they’re going to stare then they should know exactly what he thinks of it. How long has this been going on? How long has Harley been quietly dealing with it? Tony and Pepper don’t know. They would have said something this morning if they knew.

Someone falls into step beside Harley and he’s milliseconds away from snarling when Harley glances over and his shoulders relax a notch.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” the girl says back easily. She leans around Harley to look down at Peter and treats him to a small smile. “Good to see you back. Glad you’re feeling better or whatever.”

The way she says it makes him wonder if she really believes that he was sick but when he glances at Harley he doesn’t seem worried about it so he lets it go for now.

He refocuses on the girl. She looks familiar. She’s as tall as Harley, maybe even an inch or two taller, with straight blonde hair reaching past her shoulders, parted in the middle and tucked behind hearing aid-clad ears. With her bright blue eyes and the light dusting of freckles over her nose, her and Harley could be twins except where he’s toned muscle, she’s thin and willowy.

“Tiffany, right?” he asks after a beat. “From orientation?”

“Trinity,” she corrects and then elbows Harley with a little grin. “At least one of you remembered.”

“Oh shut up,” he mumbles, elbowing her back. His brow is still furrowed but his jaw is no longer clenched.

Did Harley make a friend while he was gone?

It’s funny. Sometimes he worries Harley settled with him. When school first started, he was afraid that he’d meet new people and realize he has options and then maybe realize Peter isn't The One™ after all. Growing up in such a small town he can’t have met that many different kinds of people, and Peter was one of the first people he met after moving to New York.

How can Harley be so sure that he’s the right one for him? What if he meets someone he connects with better? He knows it’s dumb, but he can’t help it. He hates how secretly happy he was that no one tried to befriend them, but now that he’s looking Harley’s new friend in the face, he finds he’s more relieved than anything else.

At least he wasn’t completely alone. At least Harley didn’t have to deal with this bullshit by himself while he was off playing with superheroes. At least he has someone he can count on.

“Cuppa Cryptonite later?” Trinity asks.

He can’t tell if she’s asking both of them or just Harley.

“We’ve got classes until two,” Harley tells her, glancing once at Peter with a question in his eyes.

Peter lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. He’s still not sure if he’s invited but even if he’s not, he’s not Harley’s keeper. If he wants to hang out with a friend then he should. It’s not like he’s been home much lately anyway.

“I’m a graduate student,” Trinity says with a twist to her lips that doesn’t quite resolve into a smile. “I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy.”

“Umm,” Harley glances at Peter again.

What? Is he asking permission? Is he looking for a way to hang out with his friend without having to tell him to get lost?

“Show up or don’t but that’s where I’ll be,” Trinity says, slowing down as they near an intersection. “Either way, I’ll see you around.”

She shoots them a little wave and flashes a parting smile for Peter and then as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone, slipping between meandering students and disappearing down the hall to the left.

“You made a friend,” he says once she’s out of sight.

Harley snorts. “You don’t have to say it like I just got home from my first day of kindergarten.” He shoots Peter a sideways glance. “Is that… okay?”

“Of course it is,” he says quickly. “I’m glad. It’s good.”

He shuts up, afraid he’ll give away the little bean of jealousy rooted in his chest if he keeps spouting assurance. He knows it’s stupid. He doesn’t own Harley’s time or attention. He wants him to have friends. He _does._ So what if he isn’t going to have his attention all to himself anymore? He can handle it. This is a good development. Totally great. He’s happy for him, truly.

Besides, he’s more than got his hands full with their fruitless search for the mutates and Miles being all weird and distant.

“So d’you wanna go to Cuppa Cryptonite?” Harley asks.

He sags with relief. So he _is_ invited.

“Yeah! I’ve got a little time until I said I’d meet up with Gwen and Miles and I bet Martha’s been missing me. ”

Harley snorts. “You have no idea. She’s gonna be all over you.”

They step into the classroom and there’s a lull in conversation as everyone registers their arrival.

Fuck. He’d nearly forgotten about how weird everyone is acting. He’d sort of hoped it was only the rest of the school and the classes they’ve been sitting with for months would be unaffected. Apparently, that’s not the case.

Harley ducks his head and his shoulders hunch again as he leads them to the back corner farthest from the door.

Fuck them. Fuck them for making Harley feel like he needs to hide. Fuck them for ostracizing him and making him uncomfortable. _Fuck them._

“I’m gonna see if I can get any deets. Watch my stuff.”

His gaze snaps over to a guy in the middle of the room. He shouldn’t have been able to hear the words whispered by… David. Dexter. Detroit. He doesn’t remember his name. The guy stands up from his desk, winks at the girl beside him, and heads towards their corner as Harley, oblivious, sits in a chair and unpacks his bag with his chin to his chest.

Peter remains standing. Staring. Waiting.

Dylan. Duncan. Denver. Whatever his name is, catches sight of his glare then stops in his tracks and turns right back around.

_Good._

He drops into his seat and hauls a textbook out of his bag, thumping it on the desk without bothering to check if it’s the right one.

He can’t wait for today to be over.

~ **Harley** ~

“I have good news and bad news.”

He doesn’t falter, hands steady as he manipulates the nanobots how Tony showed him. “Bad news first.”

“I tore the suit again,” Peter says, a slight echo to his voice like he’s in a tunnel. Or the sewer. _Again._

He rolls his eyes. That happens so frequently it’s not even bad news anymore. It’s just... news. “Okay, what’s the good n—,” He stops, nearly crushing the nanobot held carefully in the tips of his tweezers. “Wait, hold on. Aren’t you in the Iron Spider? How the _fuck_ did you tear that suit?”

“I’m getting to that!” There’s a soft grating of metal on concrete and when Peter speaks again, the echo is gone, replaced by honking and distant sirens. “The good news is, I got a cool knife! A _really cool knife.”_

Carefully, Harley returns the nanobot to the housing unit and puts down his tweezers to knead his temple where a headache is setting in. “Is this your fun quirky way of telling me you got stabbed?”

“...maybe.”

He sighs and starts the process of safely putting away the nanobots, taking extra care to make sure he doesn’t miss any. Since Tony gave him the crash course in nanotech, he’s been having a much easier time building his new suit but he’s afraid he might be in over his head trying to incorporate the portal technology. That hasn’t stopped him from trying, but he’s worried he might not be able to pull it together in time.

In time for what? He’s not sure yet, but with Peter constantly out patrolling and Miles being cagey and distant and Gwen all reserved and focused—it’s starting to feel like it did right before the Rhino incident.

He needs to be ready. Ready for anything.

“What kind of knife could even— You know what. Just show me when you get here. You need a lift back to the tower?”

“Nah, I’m only a couple minutes out. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Alright. I’ll be in the med bay. Don’t bleed out.”

“Don’t worry, it’s totally cauterized. See you in a few!”

He finishes cleaning up and heads for the elevator with a sigh. While he enjoys the nights Peter comes home early, he’d prefer his arrival not always involve horrific wounds.

On the bright side, they have their own room in the med bay now. It’s window accessible and when he stops by during the day, the medical staff are always quick to point him to whatever snacks they have in the break room. It’s late so he doubts anyone is still hanging around but sometimes they leave something out for him. He hopes it’s homemade cookies again. He’s not sure who keeps bringing them in but once he finds out he’s going to be hounding them for their snickerdoodle recipe.

He peeks in the break room and is disappointed to find only a bag of stale bagels. He grabs them anyway and continues down the hall to the room reserved for them.

Peter is inside wearing only his Under Armour, the Iron Spider retracted into the housing unit on his chest, and stinking to high heaven.

“Dude, you reek.” He tosses the bagels at his chest and starts scrubbing his hands in the little sink beside the door.

“Tell me about it,” Peter says. He sticks his nose in the bag and then happily plucks out a blueberry bagel, swinging his feet where he sits atop the examination bed. “I’m giving myself a migraine.”

Harley wrinkles his nose and reluctantly steps close enough to examine the torn and scorched flesh peeking through the tear over his thigh as he dries his hands with a paper towel. It’s not bleeding although there is some dry blood around the wound and sticking the fabric to his skin.

He pulls on a pair of latex gloves and starts carefully picking the fabric from the wound with a pair of tweezers. If he’s careful enough they can salvage the pants and stitch the tear.

“Any luck?” he asks, already knowing the answer. If he’d found one of the missing mutates he wouldn’t be here right now. This isn’t a life-threatening wound and Peter has put off worse when he felt there was something more important to be doing.

“Nope,” Peter says lightly, but he can sense the underlying frustration in the tension in his shoulders, his hand fisted on the bed beside his hip, the furrow of his eyebrows.

It’s been a week and they’ve only managed to find Maxwell Markham (or _Grizz_ as Peter insists on calling him) not that the others haven’t been leaving trails all over the city. He wouldn’t say it’s destruction they leave in their wake but there’s definitely been some property damage and alarmed witnesses. It’s becoming more and more clear that they don’t want to be found despite Gwen making it fairly obvious that she’s looking for them.

It was Pepper who approached her early on and asked if she wanted to go public with her story. She could stay anonymous but help drive that final nail in Oscorp’s coffin. Gwen agreed and there have been protests on every Oscrop property every day since. Norman Osborn was arrested, forced to resign, and let out on bail as he awaits trial. His son Harry, barely older than him and Peter, had the whole mess dumped in his lap to sort out.

He almost feels bad for him but he’s reserving judgment until they’ve seen whether or not kidnapping and human experimentation runs in the family.

With Oscorp floundering, Gwen took to vigilante work like a fish to water and now they can barely get her to hang up the suit long enough to catch a few hours of rest and a meal. She didn’t even go see her dad until almost two days after the escape. Tony and Pepper were happy to let her crash in an empty room on the Avenger’s floor as she worked up the nerve and then they didn’t see her again for three days at which point Peter was able to strong-arm her into stopping by for dinner, although he couldn’t convince her to stay and watch a movie.

It’s probably weird to hang out with them while half the group is fully suited and masked up. It’s been a struggle to protect Peter’s and Miles’s identities while also supporting Gwen but he thinks they’re doing okay. She doesn’t seem to have caught on to who Peter is despite how much time she’s spent at the tower. She’s distracted enough by everything else that she hasn’t wondered why she’s met Harley Keener but not Peter Parker and he hopes to keep it that way. Maybe if she decides to go full-time vigilante after all of this blows over then they can talk about revealing identities, but for now, he’d rather play it safe.

Every day since the Black Friday incident, Peter, Gwen, and Miles have been searching the city for the other mutates, their every waking moment (those not already claimed by school) spent out in the city turning over rocks and scrounging around subway tunnels and sewers. They’ve been out so frequently and so visibly that the media is starting to take notice and is wondering where all of these spider-themed vigilantes came from.

It fills him with a light warmth whenever he catches an article about Team Spider. It feels good to know Peter’s got a team watching his back.

He pries up the last bit of fabric from the wound and then rocks up and plants a kiss right on that furrow between Peter’s eyebrows.

“It’ll work out.”

Peter frowns at him. “You don’t know that.”

He shrugs and motions for him to take off his pants. “You guys are trying so hard, I don’t see how it couldn’t.”

“I wish that’s how life worked.”

He snorts. “Same.”

He helps him get his pants to his ankles then snaps on a fresh pair of gloves and cleans up the wound. It’s already sealed shut so thankfully it doesn’t need stitches but it should still get covered to keep it clean until it can heal up a little more. Maybe an hour or so.

He doesn’t think he can stand the stench that long.

“What’s the consensus on getting burn wounds wet?” he asks as he throws away his gloves and washes his hands.

Peter pulls his pants back up, grimacing as he straightens his leg. “Uh, I dunno. I can Google it.”

He does that and thank _God_ showers are a go. He has to replace the bandage with a dry one once he’s done but it’s well worth it not to have to smell hot sewage anymore.

“So what should we do with our new knife?” Peter asks towel-drying his hair with one hand and picking up a knife Harley hadn’t noticed sitting on the end table next to the bed.

It’s got a thick black grip and a wicked-sharp steel gray blade etched with what at first glance looks like swirling vines, but when he takes a closer look he sees they’re symbols and words in a language he doesn’t understand.

“Huh. Is it a magic knife?” he asks with an amused smirk.

“I think so,” Peter says, completely serious.

“…You’re joking.”

Peter shakes his head and holds the knife by the hilt like he means to do something with it. A moment later the blade glows orange and even from a distance, he can feel the heat coming off of it.

“How did you do that?” he demands.

Peter shrugs. “I wanted it to get hot and then it did.”

“That’s…” Crazy. Illogical. Impossible. And yet… there’s a wizard in New York. A wizard that knew when Peter wasn’t on their plane of existence. He was right when everyone else was chasing their tails. “Can it do other things? Have you tried… I dunno. Making it cold?”

“Ooo interesting theory,” Peter says, his eyes lighting up.

They test the limits of their magic knife until they discover they can electrify it and accidentally blow out the light bulb. After penning a quick apology note to the staff, they take their leave (and the bagels) and retreat to the lab for further testing.

~*~

“Dammit Parker, you can’t take all my sweaters. I need at least one!”

“I left you one,” Peter says around a mouthful of poptart. His hair is sticking up wildly from the mask he removed only a few moments ago so he could stuff his face.

If he doesn’t get changed soon they’re going to be late. Not that May expects anything less from them at this point, but still. He’s _trying_ to be _considerate._

He slams shut his side of the dresser and turns to face Peter with his hands on his hips. “I _know_ you’re not talking about that God-awful Christmas sweater Abbie sent me.”

“Uhmm... no?”

“It’s covered in pompoms!”

“You look so cute in it though,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

Harley narrows his eyes and jabs a finger at Peter’s sweater drawer. “Either bring me a sweater to wear or I’m raiding your dresser and taking back what’s mine. _Everything_ that’s mine.”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh. No need for threats.”

It takes nearly ten minutes for Peter to finish hemming and hawing over which sweater he can stand to part with and by the end of it Harley’s patience is out and they’re officially late for dinner.

“I’m gonna murder you.”

“I’m being serious. It brings out your eyes. It’s very becoming on you.”

He might have believed him if he wasn’t biting his cheeks to keep from laughing. “I’m gonna burn the stupid Christmas sweater and then I’m gonna murder you.”

Peter hands him a plain forest green hoodie. “I love you.”

“You have 30 seconds to get dressed or I’m leaving without you and telling May you drowned in a shallow puddle like an idiot.”

“Meh. There are more humiliating ways to go.” He crams the last of his poptart into his mouth and spews crumbs as he says, “I ever tell you about that time with the bag lady and the pigeons? Oh man I thought for sure they were going to find my dismembered corpse in the park absolutely _coated_ in bird crap. And then there was…”

When Harley’s internal countdown hits zero he walks out the door even though Peter is shirtless, only half-way into his pants, and still verbally reliving his top twenty most humiliating near-death experiences. Ignoring Peter’s alarmed squawk, he gets in the elevator and tells F.R.I.D.A.Y. to take him to the garage.

The doors slide shut on Peter’s muffled shout to wait.

When he steps into the garage there’s an awful racket coming from the stairwell and then Peter comes stumbling out of it—color in his cheeks, hair wild, eyes sparkling with exertion, shirt inside-out, and trailing a strand of webbing from one web-shooter.

“I can’t believe you were going to leave me.”

The door falls shut on the webbing and the sudden tension nearly yanks him off his feet.

He’s so stupid in love with him.

He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not going to pin Peter to the wall and suck his face off. He’s _not._ He’s mad at him, dammit.

He must have some sort of look on his face because when Peter finishes detaching the last of the webbing and looks up, his expression changes from mild embarrassment to something intense. Something that sets him ablaze.

“We’re late.” His voice is hoarse. He swallows past the lump in his throat as Peter closes the distance between them.

“We can be a little later,” Peter says.

Then his hands are trapping him against the elevator doors by his hips. His lips are soft and hot and they erase all concept of time from his memory.

~*~

“Your shirt is inside-out, sweetie.”

Peter’s glare meets Harley’s smug smirk.

“Oh,” May says, clearly trying not to laugh, “Harley, love, your zip is down.”

His smirk vanishes like Clint when it’s time to clean up after supper. They haven’t even made it inside the apartment yet!

As soon as May’s back is turned he rounds on Peter and hisses, “Did you unzip my pants?”

They’d gotten hot and heavy earlier but it hadn’t gone _that_ far. They’re still… Well, there’s a lot going on and maybe it’s kinda silly but he can tell Peter wants their first time together to be special and he’s happy to wait to make that happen for him. Well, _happy_ maybe isn’t the right word but he can put on his big boy pants and deal with it.

“No!” Peter hisses right back. “It’s been down since I got back from patrolling!”

_“And you didn’t say anything?!”_

“Were you going to say anything about my shirt?”

He’s got him there.

“That’s different,” he says weakly.

Peter raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, and follows his aunt into the apartment, stripping off his shirt as he goes. Harley yanks up his fly and admires the flex of his back muscles then shuts and locks the door behind him.

“I suppose I don’t need to ask why you were late,” May says with a playful grin and a wink towards Harley when she catches his eye.

“No!” Peter says. His head pops through the neck hole of his shirt, revealing the high blush on his cheeks and a glare. “I mean, _yes,_ but not the way you’re thinking! It wasn’t like _that._ Stop it! Stop looking at me like that! Ugh, I don’t want to talk about this. Is Miles still coming?”

“I told him 6:30.”

That’s a half-hour later than when she told him and Peter to get here. He glares at Peter. He _hates_ being known as the late people.

“But he politely declined,” May continues, a worried furrow between her brows. “Has he talked to either of you? He hasn’t been himself lately.”

Harley and Peter trade looks, all irritation with each other vanishing in an instant. Miles _has_ been distant lately. They’ve tried patiently waiting for him to tell at least one of them what’s going on but so far no dice.

“Intervention?” he asks.

Peter sighs. “Yeah, I think so.”

May chews her lower lip then says, “Go easy on him.”

~ **Miles** ~

He carefully eases the door open, lifting on the knob just enough that the hinges don’t creak.

He needn’t have bothered. Uncle Aaron isn’t here. Again.

He’s been avoiding his uncle as much as he can and it’s been easy because he’s _never here._ What was the point of making him stay at home for the rest of the semester and commute to class every day if he’s not even going to bother hanging around?

_We need each other now more than ever._

_Family sticks together._

_I’m here for you, Miles._

What a load of bull.

Then again, he hasn’t exactly made it easy on him. Uncle Aaron tried for the family dinners together the first couple of nights but Miles flaked both times, staying out patrolling far longer than he usually does. He can’t help it! He doesn’t know how to act around him anymore. They used to be so close but now… He doesn’t know who the real Uncle Aaron is. Is it the fun-loving stick-it-to-the-man uncle that supports him unequivocally with his art? Or is it the guy in that purple mask?

Was Uncle Aaron the one who tampered with the sedatives? If he did, what did he mean by it? Did he do it to free them? Or did he have other motivations?

Most importantly, is it Uncle Aaron’s fault his parents almost died?

Judging by the guilt written into his every action—the gifts left on the coffee table, the take-out every night, the way he can’t even look him in the eyes for longer than a second—Miles thinks yes. Whatever his intention was, it was _Uncle Aaron_ who sent the mutates into a rage and _Uncle Aaron_ who caused so much death and destruction and _Uncle Aaron_ who got his parents sent to the Emergency Room in an ambulance.

How is he meant to live with that? How is he supposed to forgive it?

His parents have improved enough to be moved from the ER to the Critical Care Unit and now _finally_ to the Intensive Care Unit but they’re still not stable enough to be moved to a regular room where they can have regular visitors.

It’s tearing him up. He should have been there. He _was_ there. He was a street over talking to Gwen when he should have been protecting people.

That’s the worst part. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive Uncle Aaron, but he _knows_ he’ll never forgive himself. He should have saved them. He should have been better. He was _right there._ If they don’t make it…

_Don’t think about that._

He’s going through the motions at school. Mr. Dutcher is on his case worse than ever and finals are coming up fast but he can’t bring himself to feel much of anything about it. Ganke’s worried but he hasn’t pushed him to talk since he explained why he wouldn’t be coming back to the dorm and why he’s no longer grounded.

Every day after school he picks a random alley, changes into his suit, and patrols until he can hardly stand. Then he goes home, sneaks in through the window, and passes out for a scant few hours until his alarm wakes him up. Then he starts the process all over again.

Mornings are the hardest because he never knows if Uncle Aaron will be around or not. He’s not sure what’s worse, when he’s here and they have to stumble their way through awkward conversation while he gets ready for school as quickly as possible, or when he’s already gone to wherever it is he goes.

His phone vibrates and a new dread drops into his stomach. He considers ignoring it but there’s a chance it’s important. It could be for Spider-Man.

It’s not. Well, it is but it isn’t.

It’s Peter. And he wants to talk.

He sighs and agrees to meet up. He knew he couldn’t avoid him forever. He finishes getting around for the morning then grabs his backpack and heads out.

No one harasses him about where he’s going and when he’ll be back. No one stops him on the porch to smother him with kisses. No one insists on giving him a ride.

He shuts off the lights and locks the door behind him.

~*~

“We’re worried about you, Miles,” Peter is saying. They’re walking side-by-side in their usual park and he’s letting Peter do all the talking. “You haven’t been yourself since I got back.”

A spike of irritation pierces through the numbness. He hasn’t been himself since long before Peter got back—Peter just wasn’t around to notice. Harley was too caught up in his own problems to notice.

His parents noticed.

Peter stops walking. “Come on, Miles,” he says, a worried furrow between his eyebrows. “Stop giving me the cold shoulder and tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m not,” he insists stubbornly. “I just don’t have anything I wanna say. I don’t know what you’re expecting to hear.” It’s the most words he’s spoken all week.

“The truth maybe? Something’s wrong. Don’t lie and tell me it isn’t. You know I’m always here for you.”

He snorts before he can stop himself. That’s rich. That’s freaking _hilarious._ He can’t believe he bought that lie so completely and without question. The truth of it is, Peter will always be here for him…after his Spider-Man responsibilities. He was an idiot for thinking anything different.

“Don’t do that,” Peter says quietly, hurt. “You know I didn’t leave on purpose. You know I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” he snaps.

Peter flinches and his expression crumples.

He fights off the guilt that threatens to snuff out his anger. He’s _right._ He knows he’s right. He’s tired of… He’s tired…

He’s tired.

“You’re right,” Peter says after a beat. “I’m sorry. I should have been here. As soon as they mentioned there was a time passage difference I should have insisted they send me back. I… I messed up and I don’t know how to fix it.”

That takes the winds of fury right out of his righteous sails. “It’s whatever,” he mumbles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m gonna worry about it, Miles. I don’t want you feeling so crappy you can’t even stand to be around me.”

Miles hesitates. He knows Peter didn’t abandon him on purpose and while he’s bitter about it, that’s not why he’s been avoiding him.

Peter’s head cocks to the side. “This _is_ the thing, right? This is why you’ve been acting weird?”

He pinches his lips together and then finally, he shakes his head. Peter’s clearly not going to let this go and he doesn’t have the energy to keep avoiding him if he’s going to be making an active effort to pry the truth out of him.

“Miles, let me help.”

He takes a fortifying breath and says, “My parents.”

Peter frowns. “Are they still mad about you sneaking out Black Friday?”

His eyes burn as he laughs hollowly. Through blurred vision, he can make out Peter’s alarmed expression. “They’re… They were out shopping and I didn’t… I wasn’t there.” He sniffs hard. “I was right _there_ but I wasn’t— I didn’t—,”

He didn’t realize how badly he’s been needing a hug until Peter’s arms are wrapped around him, holding him tight.

“God, Miles. Why didn’t you say anything? They’re not— Are they…”

“They’re in the ICU. I-I’m scared. What if they… I should’ve been there. I _should’ve_ been there.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t blame yourself. You did everything you could.”

A sob crawls out of his throat. “I was _right there.”_

“I know. I know.”

Peter doesn’t let him go as the past two weeks catch up to him. He sobs out every choking fear, all of the guilt that’s been bottled up inside of him and Peter doesn’t let go even though they’re in the middle of the path and people are walking around them. Even though his tears leave a large wet spot on his shoulder. Even though it takes a long time before he’s ready to lift his head. He doesn’t let go.

When he finally steps out of his embrace and dries his cheeks, he finds Peter doing the same.

“Sorry,” Peter says with a damp smile. “Sympathy crier. It’s a problem. Why d’you think I wear a mask, huh?”

That startles a laugh out of him. He scrubs his hands over his face and says, “Don’t make me laugh or I’ll start crying again.”

“Sorry,” Peter says. Then he sobers. “Where are you staying? You’re not alone, right?”

“I’m… Uncle Aaron is staying with me.” He doesn’t mention that he’s far more alone than he would be if he was with Ganke in their dorm. He doesn’t mention that he’s living with the man directly responsible for his parents’ injuries. He doesn’t mention that he’s going to confront him about it.

Peter frowns like he’s trying to remember something and Miles panics but then he recalls alt-Miles telling him that it would be his decision whether or not to tell Peter about Uncle Aaron. He promised he wouldn’t make it for him by telling other people his business.

“That’s good,” Peter says after a beat. “Keep me in the loop on how your parents are doing, okay? I’m always here for—,” he cuts off abruptly and tries again. “I…” He blinks a few times and then says in a measured tone. “I want to help if I can.”

The honesty stings.

~*~

The next time Uncle Aaron leaves, he follows him.

It’s a bad plan. He knows it’s a bad plan, but he can’t keep living like this. What if Uncle Aaron isn’t even the Prowler in this universe? What if he’s been stressing for nothing? He’s gotta know. He’s gotta put this whole thing to rest, one way or another.

When Uncle Aaron pops into his apartment and a few minutes later Prowler climbs down the fire escape, the last tiny ember of hope he’d been sheltering goes cold in his chest.

He knows what he needs to do. He wishes knowing was a comfort. Sometimes he wonders how his webs can handle all the extra baggage he carries. It’s not supposed to be like this. One person shouldn’t have to carry this much. Yet, he does it.

He’s careful to stay out of sight of those infrared goggles. So careful that he almost loses him. He’s getting sloppy—relying too much on his invisibility.

He finally catches up outside of a warehouse on the docks and quickly zips onto the roof and into the HVAC system. It takes a few minutes to navigate the ducts but he takes his time despite the nagging urgency demanding he hurry up. The ducts are large enough that he can almost stand but every little sound echos through the entire building. The very last thing he needs is for Prowler to look up. Neither his invisibility nor the vents will hide his heat signature from those goggles.

Finally, he spots movement and lays flat on his belly, peeking through the vent to the floor far below.

Him and Prowler aren’t the only costumes in the warehouse. There are two others and they don’t seem happy to be here, standing around. One of them has a scorpion tail and he honestly can’t tell if it’s part of a suit or his physical anatomy. Either way, it’s unfortunate. He’s pacing up and down, gesticulating wildly as he complains about being kept waiting while the other guy is gray-skinned and huge. He is a man of few words but each one is carefully selected to rile up the scorpion guy.

He has to search before he spots Prowler in a dark corner, arms crossed over his chest, lurking.

He rolls his eyes. Yeah, that’s Uncle Aaron under there. Posturing until the day he dies.

The door opens, interrupting their bickering and through it he catches a glimpse of a sleek shiny, _expensive,_ black car that has no business in a neighborhood like this. The man who glides into the warehouse looks just as out of place. His suit is immaculate. His glasses polished to a high shine. His hair in a flawless coif.

He’s a walking advertisement for Wall Street from the links in his cuffs to the shine on his shoes.

“Good evening, gentleman,” he says in a voice that matches his appearance to a T. He doesn’t seem to expect the costumes to return the greeting and they don’t appear to be so inclined. “How are things coming along? Our benefactor is many things but his patience is not infinite.”

“We finally tracked down Markham,” Scorpion says with a sneer. “Turns out the Avengers picked him up and set him up with a place to stay. Getting through security was a beast.” He smirks. “A real _bear_ of a problem. Eh? Eh?”

The suit remains placid. “I see.” Each syllable is meticulously timed. Each vowel and consonant articulated perfectly. “And what of the girl?”

Scorpion goes quiet and neither of the others jump in to fill the silence.

“I see,” the suit says again, this time with gravity. “Do not let her costume intimidate you. She’s no different from the others. I assure you she is equally scared. Equally green. You’ll have her before the week is out as we agreed, yes?”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly and waits.

Finally, Prowler speaks, but the voice that comes out is nothing like Uncle Aaron. It’s deep, mechanical and horrible. “We’ll collect your missing spider.”

Hold on. Are they talking about _Gwen?_ And… Markham must be Grizz. They got him from the Avenger’s safe house? When? Why hasn’t he heard about it? Do the Avengers know he’s gone?

“I’m sure,” Suit says with a flat, pinched smile. “While we’re on the subject of spiders, do see if you can collect the other one as well. We have some theories on how he came into his powers that we’d like to explore.”

Miles’s heart skips a beat. Does he mean…

“The… other?” Scorpion echoes. “You mean Spider-Man? You want _us_ to bring in _Spider-Man?”_

“I hear he is calling himself that, yes, but for clarity’s sake, the one in the black costume is the one we’re after.”

_Oh shit. That’s me!_

“We believe his abilities stem from the same arachnid as the girl. Oscorp has a history of… sloppy lab-keeping.”

“So… You don’t want the other one? The real Spidey?”

Rude.

“Oh heavens no! We wouldn’t want to draw the Avengers’ attention now—not when they were so quick to pass us into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s buttery fingers and look the other way. No. No one is to touch _that_ one. Only the other two. Have I made myself clear? You all understand, yes? Tombstone? Prowler?”

“Yeah, we get it,” Scorpion snaps while the gray-faced man—Tombstone—glowers and Prowler continues to stand moodily in the shadowed corner.

“Excellent. They shouldn’t offer much of a challenge. As I said, very green.”

_Rude._

“Now, you said you collected Markham. I assume we’ll find him in the usual place?”

“Yeah.” Scorpion crosses his arms and leans against a pillar.

“Good good. That concludes our business for today. I expect to see you gentleman again before the week is out. Good day.”

Once again, he doesn’t wait for them to return the farewell and fully turns his back on them as he walks out the door.

The door closes in his wake and Scorpion grumbles, “Hate that guy. Always actin’ better than us and tryin’ to make us look dumb. See how dumb he looks without his fancy suits and fancy accent.”

“The whole city knows you don’t need anyone’s help to look dumb, Gargan,” Tombstone says.

Scorpion whirls on him in an instant, tail thrashing. “You take that back before I take your face off!”

The gray man laughs, low and loud like thunder or boulders crashing against each other while Scorpion continues to hop around and shout at him.

He should get going. He scoots away from the vent, casting a glance to the corner and his heart stops dead in his chest. Prowler is looking right back. Right at _him._

Crap!

Sh-should he run? He’s going to be so slow in these vents and alt-Miles said Prowler is wicked fast. He—

“Enough,” Prowler snaps, cutting through Scorpion’s jeering with a mechanical screech. “We have work to do.”

He sweeps away with a dramatic flare from his cape and slips out a side door.

“That guy’s a weirdo.”

“Says the man wearing a tail.”

Ah, that answers the anatomical vs. stylist choice question. He’s gonna have to side with gray-face on this one. Weird choice, bud.

But where did Prowler go? Did he not see him after all? He was looking _right at him._ Maybe his infrared goggles weren’t on? Seems like a strange oversight for a meeting they probably didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on, but whatever. He’s not going to question his luck. If he’s fast, maybe he can catch up to Suit’s car and follow him to Grizz. Nice car like that is sure to stick out.

He makes his retreat easily enough with Scorpion’s shouting covering the clang and bang of him crawling through the vents and pulls himself out of the ventilation shaft and onto the roof. Quickly, he replaces the vent cover.

There. It’s like he was never—

His Spidey sense screams out and he throws himself to the side on instinct—somehow knowing which way to go—and narrowly avoids a clawed fist around his throat.

“I thought I spied a little spider,” Prowler says in that horrible screeching mechanical voice. He kicks out at Miles’s chest but Miles simply arcs back and dives over the edge of the roof, fluid like water, and shoots out a web to swing up and away.

Oh man. This isn’t good. Someone’s gotta tell Uncle Aaron he’s leaning way too hard into the evil villain persona.

Oh right. That’s his job.

What’s gonna happen if he unmasks? Who is he going to be facing? His favorite uncle? Or the Prowler? Is he like, _evil?_ He can’t imagine it. He thinks it’ll be Uncle Aaron. He _hopes_ it’ll be his uncle.

He’s got to lead him somewhere private. No way is he unmasking anywhere near those other creeps.

He doesn’t have to slow down much before Prowler catches up and then it’s a chase through the city. Over street signs, under traffic lights, around billboards. It’s surprisingly difficult to keep ahead of him. What he thought would be him leading Uncle Aaron to a secluded alley turns out to be him desperately trying to stay one web ahead. Either Uncle Aaron’s health is at its physical peak or his suit is somehow enhancing his speed and agility.

Or maybe he’s different. Like him…

The claws that tear into his calve catch him by surprise. He misses his shot with his web and tumbles through the air before smashing ribs-first into the rim of a dumpster. Something cracks on impact and it takes him a second to realize that sound came from inside him.

Then the pain registers, scoring up his leg like fire and crushing his chest until he can’t breathe.

He hits the ground hard, adding a sharp knife of pain to the riot happening in his chest, and slumps against the dirty alley wall. He forces his lungs to pull in air but only gets a trickle. It wheezes through his throat and does nothing to relieve the pressure on his chest.

Shit. Oh shit.

He can’t breathe!

Prowler lands between him and the mouth of the alley with a solid thump and stalks towards him, raking his claws along the dumpster as he passes with a hair-raising screech of metal on metal.

“Owlsley was right,” he says in that awful voice that’s nothing, _nothing,_ like Uncle Aaron. “Not a challenge at all.”

Lifting his arm is agony, but he manages to rip his mask off his head. Cold December air kisses his cheeks but still refuses to fill his lungs.

“Uncle—,” gasp, “Aaron.”

Black spots crowd his vision as Prowler freezes. He blindly fumbles for his phone in the hidden pocket at his hip. “Can’t… breathe…” Numb fingers fumble his phone and it clatters to the asphalt. “Call… Peter…”

“Miles?” Uncle Aaron’s voice says. The mechanical tone is gone. He sounds scared.

He can’t see. There’s a rushing in his ears. His chest burns as he gasps desperately.

“Call… Peter…”

~*~

When Miles wakes up his legs are trapped under the tight hospital corners his mom taught him to do when he makes the bed. The sharp stench of antiseptic that clings to her hair and skin for hours after work stings his nostrils and there’s a hand on his shoulder where his dad always places his when he wants his undivided attention.

But when he opens his eyes, there is no soft yellow light from the lamp on his nightstand and the walls are painted rather than papered and the firm hand on his shoulder doesn’t belong to his dad.

He blinks hard.

Harley’s hand is a comforting weight on his shoulder and Peter is here too, but he’s standing in the doorway with his back to the room, fully suited up and toe-to-toe with Uncle Aaron now sans claws, cape, and mask. Only the suit and big black boots remaining of the Prowler.

“He’s my nephew!”

_“You did this to him!”_

It’s the first time he’s ever heard Peter angry and it sends a thrill of fear through him. He knows what he’s capable of when he’s calm. He doesn’t want to know what he can do when he loses his temper.

There’s a ringing in his ears and he wiggles his jaw to clear it but if anything it gets louder. Wait. That’s… He turns his head and finds a gauntlet on Harley’s other hand, charging up and glowing a brighter and brighter gold as the seconds tick by.

He misunderstood. The hand on his shoulder isn’t there to comfort him. It’s to protect. Harley and Peter are gearing up to fight Uncle Aaron to keep him away from him.

They don’t have time for that.

“Hey,” he says. His voice comes out weaker than he expects but still manages to catch everyone’s attention. He clears his throat and a stab of pain radiates from his torso.

“Miles?” Peter asks without turning.

“Take it easy,” Harley says with a squeeze to his shoulder. “You just got out of surgery. You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

Wait, what?

“Huh?”

“You’ve got some broken ribs. One of them pierced your lung. Spidey barely got you here in time.”

Spidey. Right. Secret identity. Crap. He told Uncle Aaron to call _Peter,_ which he must’ve done considering him and Ganke never replaced the tracker in his suit or turned the emergency features back on. He had to of called because there’s no other way he would’ve known where to find him or that he was even in trouble in the first place.

Which means…he _called._

Some of the tension eases in his chest. Maybe he’s more Uncle Aaron than Prowler after all.

“He can… You can let him in.”

Peter doesn’t move. “Miles, he almost killed you,” he says making a valiant effort to keep his tone neutral but failing miserably. “What if he decides to finish what he started?”

“He called you. I think…” He licks dry lips with his dry tongue. “I think it’s okay now.”

“That’s the only reason I let him in the building,” Peter snaps. To Uncle Aaron he says, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hang you out the window by your ankles and let the cops have you.”

Miles’s heart leaps into his throat but Uncle Aaron responds in a low tone before he gets the chance.

“Because that’s my baby nephew and he wants me.”

A handful of seconds pass. He’s convinced Peter is going to throw him out on his ass anyway but then he takes a single step to the side, allowing barely enough space for Uncle Aaron to pass. Peter stalks him like a furious red shadow as Uncle Aaron takes the chair opposite Harley.

Once seated, Uncle Aaron smirks up at Peter and says, “I see you took my advice. You’ve gotten a lot better at this part of the job. Not that you could be worse.”

Wait, _what?_

Peter stares at him, his mask a blank, well, mask. Then his large white eyes narrow into slits.

“I see you didn’t take mine, _Mr. Criminal.”_

Uncle Aaron winces and the smirk vanishes as he shoots Miles an apologetic look.

“What are you guys talking about?” His voice is still raspy and weak but he doesn’t dare try to clear his throat again. That _hurt._

Harley’s hand disappears from his shoulder and a plastic cup with a straw appears under his nose.

“Thanks.” He can’t help but notice his gauntlet is still charged and ready to fire with a thought.

“It’s a long story,” Uncle Aaron says, sounding tired. “I’ll—,”

“He was trying to buy a gun off some modified Chitari weapon dealers years ago,” Peter snaps. “Not really that long of a story.”

Uncle Aaron glowers up at him. “You’re leavin’ out some of the finer details there, champ.”

“Alright,” Harley says tersely. “I’m officially over the pissing contest.” To Miles he asks, “D’you want him here? You think you’re safe around him?”

“I… Yeah.” He’s not 100% sure but he’s willing to take the risk so long as Peter’s in the room.

“Okay.” He digs his fingers under the wrist of the gauntlet like he’s peeling off a glove and the gauntlet dissolves into tiny particles that race into the face of his watch.

“Holy crap. Is that nanotech?”

Harley grins with teeth. “Been workin’ on it. It’s not there yet but I’m close.”

“That’s sick.”

“Once you’re up and around I can show you some stuff if you want.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

Harley smiles and gently bumps his shoulder.

Not long ago he would have balked at spending time alone with Harley with no Peter to act as the buffer, but now… He doesn’t think it’ll be so bad.

“Hey, no mentee snatching,” Peter says, making an attempt at sounding normal. It comes off stiff. “I saw him first.”

“Finders keepers,” Harley taunts. “Besides, you’ve got Gwen.”

Reality crashes over him like a bucket of ice water. He sits up like a shot and pain explodes through his chest, stealing the air from his lungs and nearly making him black out.

When he comes back to himself, everyone is hovering over him and his lap is wet. Where did his cup go? Harley is repeatedly jabbing the ‘Call Nurse’ button while yelling at Peter and Uncle Aaron to stop screaming at each other. It’s impossible to make himself heard over all the racket.

He grabs Peter’s wrist just above the web-shooter and the yelling stops.

“I swear Miles if you don’t stop giving me heart attacks I-I’ll… Ground you or— or—,”

“Gwen’s in trouble,” he rasps, gripping Peter’s wrist hard. “They’re going after her.”

In a blink, Peter Parker is gone and standing in his place is Spider-Man.

“Who?”

~*~

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Uncle Aaron snaps. “Kingpin is calling the shots from up in his Ivory tower. I’ve never even met the guy. All I know is that he wanted what Oscorp was injecting people with but they destroyed the formula before he could get his hands on it so he decided to take the test subjects instead to try and reverse-engineer it.”

“And the Black Friday massacre was you,” Peter almost snarls, hands in fists at his sides. _“You_ tampered with the sedative. _You_ set the mutates into a rage. _You_ almost got your own family killed.”

Uncle Aaron surges to his feet and only the table between them keeps him from leaping at Peter. “And I have to live with that! I didn’t _know._ I was told to replace the sedative and get the hell out so that’s what I did.”

“I hope it haunts you,” Peter spits. “I hope every day of the rest of your life you think about how badly you screwed up!”

“Why the hell do you care so much?”

“Because I was the shoulder he cried on when he was terrified he’d lose them!” he roars, slamming his fists on the table with a resounding _crack!_ “Where the _fuck_ were you?”

Quietly, Harley says, “Maybe you should—,”

Peter throws up his arms. “I’m going!” he snaps then spins on his heel and storms out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him so hard it splits down the middle.

“You sure know how to pick your friends, little man.” Uncle Aaron is staring at the pit in the table where spider-webbed cracks surround the crater made by Peter’s fists like it was struck by an asteroid.

“It’s not my friends that are the problem,” Miles mutters.

Uncle Aaron flinches and sits back down.

Harley rakes his hand through his hair and stands for several seconds with his hand atop his head and the other on his hip. He appears to be counting.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. We’re just going to… Gwen should be here any minute. Remind me again why we’re not involving the Avengers?”

“Because they’ll try to pass it off to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Miles says.

“And too much of S.H.I.E.L.D. is under Kingpin’s thumb,” Uncle Aaron adds. “Letting S.H.I.E.L.D. take over would be the same as letting Kingpin walk free.”

“And we can’t just explain that to the Avengers because…?”

Uncle Aaron glares but Harley holds out his hands in a peace offering.

“I’m not challenging you. I’m just making sure we’ve explored all of our better options before we go with the plan that entails the five of us taking on Kingpin and all of his cronies on our own. The Avengers are _supposed to_ turn this kind of thing over to S.H.I.E.L.D. but they’ve broken the rules and gotten away with it before. They might—,”

“If you think there’s a 100% chance you can convince them away from going to S.H.I.E.L.D., by all means, run to your superhero buddies. But know it’s not _my_ life you’re risking if it goes sideways.”

“What do you mean?” Miles asks. “Whose life then?”

Uncle Aaron shoots him an apologetic look. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “Kingpin doesn’t… _recruit_ people to work for him. He finds your pain points, the stuff that makes you vulnerable, and he exploits it.”

His heart stutters as he takes in the pointed expression on Uncle Aaron’s face. “Me?”

Uncle Aaron nods and says quietly, “And your mom and dad.”

He closes his eyes and sits back in his seat.

“They’re sitting ducks. I can’t get them out and hide them if they’re trapped in some ICU on ventilators.”

There’s a long silence as Miles battles back tears. Harley squeezes his shoulder but doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? Why is this so hard? How has it gotten to this point? How long have they been on some megalomaniac’s hit list waiting for Uncle Aaron to misstep so they can pull the trigger? It’s not _fair._

The door opens and he expects to see Peter but instead, it’s Gwen, suited up in her pink and white suit, whole and unharmed. He breathes out. At least one thing went right.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the post-apocalyptic atmosphere,” she says gesturing to the broken door and table, “but uh, what the hell? Somebody have a temper tantrum?”

Harley snorts, his hand slipping away from his shoulder. “Glad you made it okay.”

“There was some scorpion guy but he couldn’t keep up.” She does a double-take as she catches sight of Miles.

He’s fully suited up since they knew she would be here any moment. They still haven’t decided whether they should tell her their identities. If rounding up the mutates and sinking Oscorp is all she’s interested in, then it’s safer to stay anonymous. But if she’s going to walk the path of alt-Gwen and take up the Spider-Woman mantle… Well, then they’ll need to talk.

“You okay?” Gwen asks. “I thought you were in the hospital or something.”

“Broken ribs,” he says before anyone else can say anything. He can _not_ handle anymore coddling right now. If someone so much as looks at him with pity in their eyes he’s going to lose it. “They’re almost healed though.”

“Ouch.”

He sneezed earlier and thought he was going to die. Bending over is a feat and he’s still scared to clear his throat, but it’s blowing his mind how rapidly he’s improving. The food Harley and Peter keep shoving at him seems to kick-start bursts of healing and it would be fascinating if he didn’t have more pressing concerns.

Gwen sits across from Uncle Aaron and the wide white eyes of her mask regard him coolly before she kicks her feet up on a chair and turns to Harley.

“So what’s the sitch?”

Harley runs his hand through his hair again. It’s looking bedraggled. “So the reason we haven’t been able to find the other mutates isn’t because they’re hiding from us. They’re being collected by some guy who goes by Kingpin. Aaron here knows where they’re being held.”

Gwen’s feet slip from the chair and she sits up straight. “We have to save them.”

“Agreed,” Harley says. “But first, we need a plan. Saving them isn’t enough. We have to take down this Kingpin guy at the same time or Remix and his parents will be in danger. Any ideas?”

~ **Peter** ~

The arrival of the elevator and the familiar cadence of his footsteps announce Harley’s arrival well before the knock on the door frame.

He keeps punching the punching bag.

His fury is a fire under his skin that refuses to ebb. He should be better. There’s no excuse for losing his temper like that. His control needs to be absolute or people _will_ get hurt. He doesn’t have the luxury of popping off whenever something makes him mad.

But he’s so _fucking_ mad.

He puts too much oomph into his swing and the chain snaps, sending the bag flying across the room to join three others against the far wall.

_“Dammit!”_

He swipes sweat-soaked hair out of his face. This isn’t working.

Harley hasn’t said anything but he can feel his eyes boring into the back of his skull. Judgment? Is he sensing judgment?

He drops to the floor and sprawls on his back with his forearm over his eyes, chest heaving as he struggles to keep the surging tide of rage from washing over him entirely.

“Just _say_ it,” he demands.

He can’t stand the silence. He wants Harley to tear into him. To tell him off for losing his temper in front of _Miles_ of all people. To tell him he’s out of control and a danger to the people around him and that he needs to get himself together. He needs someone to validate all of the thoughts already spinning around his head.

Harley doesn’t say anything.

He flops his arm to the ground and glares up at him.

He’s leaning one shoulder into a pillar, arms folded over his chest with one leg crossed in front of the other, the toes of his boot digging into the floor as he regards him—gaze heavy, lips thinned.

Disappointed? Unimpressed? Irritated? All of the above?

“I didn’t come to talk,” he finally says. He sighs and lowers to sit with his back against the pillar, planting his boots in front of him with his knees to his chest. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours? You’re not usually this…”

“Hot-headed?”

“Quick to judge,” he corrects. “I’m not used to being the forgiving one so cut me some slack if my speech seems a bit clunky but uh… Second chances, blah blah something something?”

“This _was_ his second chance,” he snaps, sitting up and spinning to face him. “Don’t you get it? This is _my fault.”_

There’s a beat as Harley stares at him, uncomprehending, and then, _“What?_ How the f— Okay…” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay, I’ll humor you. How is Miles’s uncle working for Kingpin _your_ fault?”

“I let him go! I didn’t turn him in when I first caught him. If I’d turned him in, none of this would have happened.”

Harley squints at him like he’s an idiot. “Okay, that’s a reach. _None_ of this? I’m pretty sure Kingpin is still the big player here. With or without Prowler, he would have sent _someone_ to break out the mutates. Second, what would you have done different, huh? Are you going to start blindly turning people over to the cops? You don’t get to take away Aaron’s autonomy just so you can keep all the guilt for yourself. He made his choices. Not you.”

“But I could have made better ones.”

“Oh fuck _off,”_ Harley snaps, jerking to his feet all at once.

He flinches back. Thrown by the rare show of anger. Harley _never_ yells. He simmers. He stews. He doesn’t explode.

“You’re so full of shit! I can’t believe—,” He clenches his jaw and shakes his head before trying again, words clipped and jagged like it’s taking everything in his power to keep his voice level. “While you were down here having your savior complex pity party, Gwen made it here safe and we came up with a plan. It’s the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard and we’ve got like a 5% chance of success but that chance drops down to _zero_ if you don’t pull your head out of your ass and put on your big boy pants.”

He stares, anger replaced with shock and hurt. Harley _never_ talks to him like this.

He says quietly, “You’re being kind of a dick right now.”

“Yeah. I am. I’ll probably feel bad about it later but, _fuck.”_ His voice cracks and becomes strained, softer. “This is so big, Pete. We’re in way over our heads and we _need you._ We need you to be at the top of your game. This,” he waves his hand at him on the floor, “this… this kiddy pool of self-loathing that you’re wallowing in? It’s not helping anybody and it’s going to get someone killed. Probably Miles and his whole family.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Right. You missed that part of the meeting because you were _here_ doing _this.”_ Harley pulls in a sharp breath, expression overwhelmed and fraying further with every passing second. “If we fuck up and don’t take down Kingpin on our first try? He’s going to take out Miles and his parents. That’s what he’s been holding over Aaron’s head to keep him in line. So like I said, head, remove from ass and up go the big boy pants. We’ve got work to do.”

With that, he turns and stalks back the way he came in.

It takes his brain a handful of seconds to stop reeling and get with the program but then he’s scrambling after him.

“Harley, wait!”

Harley stops and slowly turns to face him, wary like he’s expecting to have his head bitten off. It’s the final nail in the guilt coffin.

“I’m… You’re right. I… I should have been there.”

Amazement graces his features and then quickly morphs into irritation. “Peter, if I could set your guilt complex on fire I would blow that thing sky-high, Mythbuster’s style in an instant.”

A half-smile cracks his face. “Same. I’m sorr—,”

“If you apologize right now, I will _punch_ you. I don’t want your guilt or your sorry’s! That’s not helping anything!”

“Right.” He draws in a breath. “Changed behavior. So what’s the plan? What do I need to do?”

Harley tips his chin to the ceiling, breathing deeply, then shakes his head. “That stupid apology language thing is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

“Only if you keep me around that long.”

His sharp edges blunt and the tight clench of his jaw eases as his shoulders relax. He laces their fingers. “Of course I will. What am I gonna do with myself if I don’t get to trip over your slippers every damn morning?”

He manages a feeble smile. “You mean it? I know I’m not the easiest partner so I’d understand if you—,”

“Don’t be stupid. One little spat doesn’t mean I’m not in love with you anymore,” he says gently. “It doesn’t mean you’re not worth it.”

“It didn’t feel little,” he says down to his toes. “And… I dunno. It feels like we argue more now than we used to.”

“I… I guess I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately,” he says. “And… I dunno. It feels like it’s been forever since things have been normal but… everything considered, I think we’re doing okay? My parents ain’t exactly the shining standard of a healthy relationship but Tony and Pepper argue all the time and they’re happy together, right?”

Aunt May and Uncle Ben used to clash a lot too. That’s not something he thinks about much anymore but they did have their disagreements and sometimes would need space from each other until they worked it out. But they always worked it out. Maybe that’s the important part.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Besides,” Harley says, cracking a small smile, “we’ve always argued, Pete. Arguing is basically the entire foundation of our relationship.”

He smiles back tentatively. “Yeah, I guess. It feels different now though. Like it’s about stuff that matters, not just arguing for the sake of arguing.”

He shrugs. “Maybe that’s just what growing up is like. Instead of getting mad that someone took the last juice box now you get mad when someone takes all of the mutates you were trying to rescue.”

He snorts, smiling genuinely this time. “Yeah, boring ole adulthood.” He squeezes Harley’s hand. “What are you stressed about?”

“What? I mean, there’s Kingpin and Miles and—,”

“No, you said you’ve been feeling a lot of pressure lately. Like it’s been going on longer than just today.”

“Oh.” Harley takes a deep breath. “It’s…everything is happening all at once and… I’m not ready. Finals are coming up— God, finals are on Monday. What a clusterfuck.” He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “And… Remember back in August? Before Rhino when you were out all the time and then… That night was awful. I was scared out of my mind and I wasn’t prepared for any of it. I don’t want to get caught with my pants down like that again.”

“That’s why you’ve been working so hard on your suit,” he realizes.

Harley nods, licking his lips. “Yeah. It’s like there’s a deadline coming but I don’t know when, just that it’s coming fast and I need to be ready. I guess that’s why I got so mad at you.” He looks at him, blue eyes grave. “I can’t lose you. Rhino almost killed you and when you were missing that was the worst I’ve ever felt so I can’t…” His voice cracks. “I need you to be ready too.”

“Okay,” he says. He kisses the corner of his mouth and wraps him in his arms. “Okay, I’m here.”

Harley rests his forehead on his shoulder and holds him tight around his waist.

“It’s going to be different this time,” he promises. “We’re a team, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Harley leans out of their embrace and flashes a crooked grin. “You, me, our over-eager spider-powered kid brother, a reclusive and traumatized Spider-Woman, and a supervillain uncle. There’s no way we can lose.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says. “You said you guys made a plan.”

He pulls in a breath and releases it. “Calling it a plan is a gross exaggeration but I’ll fill you in.”

~ **Harley** ~

He hovers in the doorway of Tony’s lab for a handful of seconds before gathering the courage to interrupt his work. It smells like new car and everything is bizarrely pristine and organized.

“Tony,” he has to raise his voice to be heard over the blaring classic rock.

Tony glances up, surprised to find someone in the room with him and a second later the music cuts out.

The sudden silence is intimidating but he steels himself and asks, “Do you… Can we train for a bit?”

Tony sets aside his schematic and gets to his feet. “You’ve never asked to train before. What’s going on? Who do I need to take out?”

“Nobody,” he lies. “It’s nothing. I just…”

Tony raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Does this have anything to do with the Spider Dumpling Gang turning New York upside down looking for those mutates even though I told everyone _explicitly_ that it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s problem now?”

He winces. So he _does_ know about that. Stupid. Of course he does. They’ve been all over the news. What else would they be doing all over the city?

“No. Well, sort of. I just… I have a feeling. I— It’s stupid. Never mind. I’ll just—,”

“It’s not stupid. Let’s go train. What do you want to work on? I’m yours all day.” He shakes his shirt to rid it of the metal shavings and then throws his arm around his shoulders. “How’s your suit coming along? You figure out the portal stuff yet? Want to bounce some ideas around while we shoot each other?”

“I… Yeah, that sounds really good actually. Thanks, Tony.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Serotonin Wednesday!! I can't believe there are only two chapters left! *external screaming* The next one is the big climax and the one after is the epilogue. They're both unreasonably long so pencil some time on your calendar if you haven't already haha
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, and commented!!! You guys are amazing and I love you and I'm so so excited to share these last chapters with you!


	15. The Shit Tits

[](https://imgur.com/Py5ulRC)

**The Plan**

**Step 1** : Ask for help? _This plan is gonna suck I can already tell_

**Step 2** : Free mutates. _Sure! Let’s just Do That_

**Step 3** : Look for clues. _Scooby Doo? Nancy Drew? Hold on lemme grab my handy dandy notebook_

**Step 4** : Find and subdue Kingpin. _Do I even need to comment on this one?_

**Step 5** : ~~Don’t Die~~ ~~Profit.~~

_DON'T DIE!_

~ **Peter** ~

**Earlier…**

> “ _This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny_
> 
> _Good guys, bad guys and explosions, as far as the eye can see_
> 
> _And only one will survive, I wonder who—”_

“Would you turn that off!” Harley snaps.

“Just trying to set the mood,” Peter grumbles but does as he’s told.

He forgets sometimes, despite how much Harley looks out for him—how often he patches him up, how much they train together—he’s still relatively sheltered from the actual dangerous part of being Spider-Man.

“This plan sucks,” Harley gripes for the hundredth time, running his hand through his hair for the thousandth. He’s looking wild-eyed. Frazzled.

Peter trades an exasperated look with Miles and doesn’t bother to remind him _again_ that planning isn’t their forte. They’re better at improv.

“Who crossed out Step #5 and wrote Profit?” Harley snaps, furiously scribbling. “Number five was the most important step!”

“It just said ‘don’t die’,” Miles says. “At least mine is optimistic.” His ribs must be fully healed. He’s slumped so far down in his chair that he’s in danger of slipping off the end.

“We don’t need optimism! We need _realism!_ Or better yet, someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. Can’t we just call the police and—,”

“No cops,” Aaron interjects. “I’m telling you, they’re on Kingpin’s payroll. I’ve seen it in action. He’s got judges and lawyers too and can get to anyone on any jury. Like it or not, we’re on our own here.”

“Lawyers,” Gwen echos. “I know some lawyers.”

“Did you listen to a word I just—,”

“They’re different,” Gwen insists. “They got my ex out of an impossible situation and they can’t be bought. Trust me. We can ask them for legal advice, you know? To make sure he won’t get out on a technicality and that we grab the right kind of evidence.”

“What would you know about whether or not they can be bought?” Aaron asks snidely.

“If they could, they wouldn’t still be working in that dump they call an office and they’d get paid in money rather than breakfast pastries. I think my ex is still their receptionist. Let me call. We can keep it vague if you want but you can’t deny we need help. We can’t afford to screw this up. You’re the one that keeps saying that.”

Aaron scrubs a hand down his face and says, “Alright, whatever. Call your boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend. _Ex-_ girlfriend.”

~ **Miles** ~

**Now…**

The place where Uncle Aaron says the mutates are being held is just some random office building with a loading dock in the back. He and Gwen stay perched far above on the twin lamppost like over-sized birds, watching for anyone coming or going as they wait for the signal from the others to move in, collect evidence, and release the mutates.

So far they’ve seen a whole lotta nothing.

“My knees hurt,” he says quietly.

“My calves are killing me,” Gwen returns, equally hushed.

“We picked a shitty surveillance spot.”

“We did.”

They fall back into silence, neither suggesting they move. It might be an uncomfortable spot but they can see everything from here. Anywhere else and they’d have blind spots. Neither of them is willing to risk it. Gwen, he assumes, because it’s personal. And him… Well, this has been his whole life for over a month. He’s not going to get lazy now. He’s got to see it through. Maybe it’s dumb but he feels like if he doesn’t pull this off then he doesn’t deserve to wear the mask. He supposes that makes it personal for him too.

“You think they’ll be happy to see you?” he asks.

Gwen frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Like I said before, we’re not friends. They didn’t let us talk or see much of each other but we knew we weren’t alone. That’s a kind of camaraderie, at least for me.” She shrugs. “Or maybe they hate my guts for getting away while they got taken again. Who can say.”

“What are you going to do when this is over? Like, will you keep the suit? Just do regular vigilante stuff like me and Spidey?”

She tips her head to the side. “I… Honestly, I don’t know. I suppose I should finish school. I’m a whole semester behind now. I don’t even know if spring registration is still open.”

“It’s really hard doing school and Spider-Man stuff.”

Gwen turns and looks at him, her mask unreadable.

“What?” he asks.

“High school? You don’t have to say, but it’s kind of obvious. You’re really actually 14, aren’t you?”

Oh come _on._

He pivots back to face the building, shoulders slumped, but he’s not pouting. That’s kid stuff. It would just be nice if there was someone on the team who would take him seriously. Not that Peter and Harley don’t, but they treat him with kid gloves. It’s been _nice_ having Gwen on the team—Gwen who doesn’t know who he is or how old he is. It was _nice_ having someone who treats him like just another vigilante. An equal.

“Don’t be like that.” Gwen nudges him with her elbow. “What’s so bad about me knowing stuff about you guys anyway? You’re all so cagey.”

_“We’re_ cagey?” Miles asks, incredulous. “You’re the _queen_ of cagey. You hardly ever talk and when you do it’s always sarcastic.”

“Well sorry I’m not all happy-go-lucky-sunshine-girl after being locked in a literal cage for five months!”

He winces. Hello foot, meet mouth.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

Miles snorts a soft laugh. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She doesn’t respond and she seems like she’s thinking so he leaves her to it and looks around to make sure no one overheard them. A pigeon takes off with an old french fry but otherwise, the empty parking lot stays empty.

“That’s not the only reason I’ve been stand-offish,” Gwen says. “I… You guys all know each other, right? Like under the masks, you know each other. But I don’t know anything about any of you except what I could find online about Harley. You know _everything_ about me. It’s… I don’t know. It makes me… I feel like a temporary teammate. You asked if I’m going to keep doing this after tonight and honestly, I’d like to but not like this. I don’t want to be the one on the sidelines. The girl that had to be rescued and the guys let hang around out of pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Miles says quickly. “It’s not—,”

“Well that’s what it feels like when you guys won’t even tell me your _names,”_ she snaps. “What else am I supposed to think? If you planned on letting me hang around after this, why are you still hiding from me? If it’s not out of pity then—,”

“Miles,” he says. “My name’s Miles.”

Gwen stays quiet for several beats before finally, she says softly, “Thanks, Miles.”

“I uh, I like Remix though. It’s cool.”

She snorts out a quiet breath of air. “Yeah? Is that why you wouldn’t tell me your name? So I’d keep calling you Remix?”

“Pfft, nooooo.”

Gwen turns her head towards him and he can’t see it but he thinks she’s smiling. “How do you think Spidey and Daredevil are getting along?”

~ **Harley** ~

**Earlier…**

“So you’re going to go have a little chat with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen just because some lawyer said it would be a good idea?” he demands.

“Yep!” Gwen says, an edge under the false-cheer in her voice. “Why not, you know?”

“I’ve always wanted to meet Daredevil,” Peter says, bouncing from one foot to the other. “Like, officially.”

“Google says Nelson and Murdock are the real deal,” Miles says, scrolling on his phone. He scowls and swipes away a notification, mumbling in Spanish under his breath. At normal volume he says, “I swear, I don’t think I can take another six months of Mr. Stark bugging me every ten minutes about remodeling stuff.

“Anyway, they’ve got like fifteen Yelp reviews saying they’ll accept whatever you can pay them in. Someone on here actually paid them in movie tickets for defending them against an insurance company that was trying to get them convicted for burning down their own theater.”

“Oh now we’re trusting _Yel—,”_ Harley cuts off. “Hold on. Are you saying they accepted payment in movie tickets for a theater that _burned down?_ These guys sound like idiots.”

“They sound like their hearts are in the right place,” Gwen argues. “Karen vouched for them.”

“Goodie for Karen,” Aaron says. “It sounds like money isn’t an issue. Probably because they’re on Kingpin’s payroll to look the other way whenever he says.”

“I’m telling you,” Gwen snaps, “the dump they work in? _Not_ Kingpin quality. If they had any money at all they’d _at least_ get working air conditioning.”

Everyone winces.

“Alright.” Harley rubs his temples. “So say these guys are on the up and up. How’s Daredevil supposed to help us? We’ve got heavy hitters already. What we _need_ is someone with some discretion. Someone good at predicting and planning.”

“Murdock said no one knows Kingpin like Daredevil,” Gwen reminds him. “He’s been trying to take him down for over a year now.”

“So why hasn’t he?” Harley asks. “Maybe he hasn’t pulled it off yet because he’s a hothead who thinks with his fists.”

“Batman syndrome,” Miles says. “I bet you anything it’s because he insists on working alone.”

“Oh man, have you run into him too?” Peter asks, perking up. “He’s all—,” he deepens his voice and lifts his elbows away from his sides to signify broad shoulders, “—stay out of Hell’s Kitchen, Spider-Man. This is my turf!”

Miles cracks up, nearly tipping out of his chair.

“Alright,” Harley says, running a hand through his hair. He looks at Aaron who, despite being a criminal, seems to be the only other person in the room with a lick of common sense. “What d’you think? Worth the risk if he really is a Kingpin expert?”

“If you’re all convinced he’s not working for Kingpin then,” he shrugs, “can’t hurt to have an extra set of hands if nothing else.”

“Okay,” he says. He looks at Peter. “Okay.”

“He wants to meet with us now,” Gwen reminds them. “If we wait too long and Kingpin destroys all the evidence or moves the mutates then—,”

“I said okay,” he snaps. “I just…”

“Your suit isn’t done,” Peter finishes for him.

That’s the whole problem. He can’t keep up with them on foot and flying isn’t an option. Not for him. He’s more helpful staying at the tower out of their way than having a panic attack in the middle of a fight but he _hates_ the idea of sending them off into an unknown situation against such a big threat with so much riding on the outcome. He _hates_ it.

“Are you close?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.”

“Finish it.” He stands. “Then catch up.”

~*~

His stomach is in knots as he watches them go. The moment they whip around a building and out of sight, he turns on his heel and heads for the elevator.

He finds Tony exactly where he expects. In his lab. He looks up as Harley enters.

“I need your help but you can’t ask questions and we need to move fast.”

Tony sets aside his tools and pushes his safety glasses onto his head. “Eleventh hour already? Tell me what you need.”

~ **Peter** ~

**Now…**

The trip to Brooklyn is awkward, to say the least. Without someone to act as a buffer, the journey is stifled by an uncomfortable quiet. Losing his temper, the things he said—it’s still heavy on both his and Aaron’s minds.

Not to mention what he just learned about who they’re going up against. He’s trying not to think about that though.

The worst part is, it’s so uncomfortable that he can’t think of a single joke to make about their destination, even as he stares up at it. There should be _several_ pinging around his brain, desperate to spew forth and elicit groans from anyone within earshot. The place is already colloquially known as _the Shit Tits_ for crying out loud. He should have something.

The Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant (aka digester eggs, aka Shit Tits) processes the sludge (aka sewage, aka literal poo water) from parts of Brooklyn, Queens, and Lower Manhattan using gigantic 150-foot tall stainless steel egg-shaped drums. He doesn’t remember the smell from the last time he was here but that was with Uncle Ben for their grand opening tour when he was eight, long before that spider altered his DNA and granted him a super sniffer.

“How long d’you think before he gets here?”

“He’s freakishly punctual,” Aaron says. “Always arrives exactly six minutes after he said he would. Why? Got some place to be?”

Peter shrugs. “Kinda giving me a headache. Not a big deal though. I’ve smelled worse.” In fact, for the past few weeks, he’s spent more time in the sewers than anyone should have to in a lifetime and down there it smells far _far_ worse. And it was for nothing! Because the mutates he was looking for had already been re-kidnapped by the man in front of him.

The look on Aaron’s face shifts, some of his guard falling away.

“You can smell it? I don’t smell anything.”

He shrugs again.

He never likes talking about the extent of his abilities, especially with people he doesn’t explicitly trust. It feels like something he should keep close to his chest lest someone take advantage. He’s not even sure that the Avengers know everything he’s capable of. Mr. Stark does thanks to all of his testing a few months ago but he swore he’d lock that information down tight and wouldn’t tell a soul.

“Could Miles? If he was here, I mean,” Aaron asks after a beat.

Ah. He looks around but their mysterious traveling companion has already disappeared. Typical.

“Yeah,” he admits. “He’s got all the same abilities as me plus a couple extra. Still not sure how those happened.”

Aaron gets a peculiar look on his face.

“What?” he asks, eyes sharpening. “What do you know?”

Aaron sucks on his bottom lip and then says, “Could he have already had abilities? That hadn’t manifested yet? And the bite activated them?”

“That’s an idea we sort of considered,” Peter says slowly, “but that sort of thing is usually genetic and he said no one in his family has abilities.”

Aaron makes a face. “Well… it ain’t something we like to talk about. For obvious reasons.”

Peter stares at him. Is he saying _he_ has natural born abilities and that Miles might as well? Who is _we?_ Miles’s dad? If he has natural abilities on top of his spider-gifted ones then does that make Miles a mutant rather than a mutate like him? Or a weird mix of the two? What are Aaron’s abilities? Is it his speed and agility? It was hard not to notice the ease he had in keeping up with his web-swinging, but he thought it was the suit. What if that’s just _him?_

“Look,” Aaron says, breaking him from his thoughts, “what you said earlier, you weren’t wrong. It’s my fault Jeff and Rio are hurt. I own that and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to them and Miles too. And what you said after that, about not being there when Miles needed me… I’m changing that too. I wanna help him with this, however I can. However he’ll let me. First I gotta get out from under Kingpin’s thumb and then…” He looks at Peter. “He’ll hate me if I try to talk him out of this whole hero business, won’t he?”

Peter shrugs and then thinks about the day he went through the portal—Miles in the children’s Spider-Man mask ready to jump off a building, Miles stealing a suit and taking on the Spider-Man mantel without telling anyone, Miles taking on Oscorp by himself and his determination to see it through to the end despite having to go behind the backs of the Avengers.

“Yeah,” he says. “He might.”

Aaron nods, unsurprised.

Peter looks at him sideways from the corner of his eye and steels himself. “I’m sorry for the things I said. About being haunted? I was—,”

“Don’t,” Aaron says. “You meant it. You weren’t wrong either.”

“I was more mad at myself than at you.”

Aaron gives him a look like he’s an idiot, which… yeah.

He shrugs. “It’s… I let you go. I knew you were a criminal and I let you go because… I dunno. I thought you might change? I thought showing leniency would like… inspire you to get out of crime or something.”

Aaron snorts. “I wish it was that easy.”

Peter ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, it was dumb. I guess I’m just saying I know what it’s like to realize a choice you made led to someone you love getting hurt in the worst way. I know you’re your own person and everything but as far as I’m concerned, I’m just as responsible as you are for what happened. That’s why I was so angry.”

“That’s bullshi—,”

“He’s here,” a gruff voice from the shadows says, _far_ closer than he anticipated. “Get in your places.”

Peter doesn’t ask how he knows—he’s not about to question the devil—and zips up to one of the skywalks between the eggs. He finds a dark spot to tuck into where he can see everything happening below and waits.

A shiny black SUV pulls into the parking lot not a minute later and then it’s over in a flash of webbing.

As soon as the passenger steps out of the car, he webs him to the side of one of the digester eggs, and his driver—knocked out with a single punch, courtesy of Daredevil—gets webbed to the driver seat. Aaron pitches the keys to the SUV into the river.

“You’re fools,” Owlsley tells them, stuck tight to the digester egg and irrationally calm despite being at their mercy. “Whatever you think this will accomplish—,”

He cuts off as he catches sight of Aaron standing half-shadowed by the SUV. His jaw snaps shut and his eyes turn flinty. “I do hope you’ve said your goodbyes to your family, Davis. Our employer doesn’t give second chances to traitors.”

“He ain’t my employer anymore.”

“You’re up,” Daredevil tosses Owlsley’s phone and Peter fumbles it, heart thundering and bile in his throat.

It has to be him. They talked it out earlier. If Aaron calls, Miles’s parents are dead. If Daredevil calls, he won’t show up in person and will engage all of his defenses. It _has_ to be Spider-Man that lures Kingpin out of his tower.

He swallows thickly and presses Owlsley’s index finger against the sensor on the back of the phone.

“You know, biometric locks are super easy to get through. You should consider a pin or pattern in the future.”

Owlsley glares at him and says nothing as he pulls up his recent calls. There aren’t any contacts saved but he wasn’t expecting there to be. He scans the list of outgoing calls and selects the one that Owlsley calls most frequently.

He puts the phone to his ear and holds his breath as it rings.

~*~

**Earlier…**

“Read it,” Daredevil growls, not even reaching out a hand for the offered scrap of notebook paper.

He left Harley’s annotations on their plan because he thought they were funny and that Daredevil might appreciate the humor, but now he’s not so sure.

“Uh, it’s for you,” Peter says. “You can keep it for referen—,”

The devil snaps, _“Read. It.”_ He starts pacing.

He is so not getting out of this.

“Sick power play,” he mutters, unfolding the paper. He glances at the others. “Anybody wanna—,”

“No,” Aaron and Gwen say while Miles shakes his head frantically.

“Right, okay then.”

Daredevil stops pacing midway through the reading, the unblinking eyes on his mask boring into Peter’s face as he does his best to capture Harley’s essence—the sarcasm, the derisive tone. He’s not sure it’s coming across. He never was cut out for theater.

“That’s not a plan,” Daredevil says after a long pause. “That’s a list of goals. How are you going to accomplish any of that?”

He didn’t expect Daredevil to be the judgy lecturing type and yet…

“A can-do attitude and a big can of whoop-ass?” he says.

“Gumption?” Miles hazards.

“I assumed we would all die in the attempt.”

“Dude!”

Gwen shrugs.

“So you _don’t_ have a plan?” Daredevil asks, judgment, once again, heavy in his tone.

“Look,” Peter says, “we came to you because we realize our plan is shit—,”

“Lack of plan,” Daredevil mutters.

_“The point,”_ Peter continues over him, “is that we’re better at coming up with plans on the fly.”

Daredevil tips his head back and groans.

He ignores him. “Which we realize isn’t going to work for this. So… help?”

Daredevil sighs and looks like he’d rather jump off the side of the building than help them. “Do… How…” He growls in the back of his throat. “Where is Fisk in all of this? How are you going to persecute him?”

His blood runs cold.

“F-Fisk?” he asks, voice pitched high. “What’s he got to do with it?”

Daredevil stares at him. “Are you telling me you got this far and don’t even know who Kingpin is? Wilson Fisk is the Kingpin.”

_Wilson Fisk is the Kingpin. Fisk is the one that can kill him. Oh shit. Oh fuck._

His skin feels cold. He’s going to puke.

He’s been chasing the killer of another universe’s Spider-Man this whole time? He was going to run in blind with no clue that he’d be coming face to face with a man who killed Other Miles’s Peter Parker?

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._ He’s got a team. Everything is going to be fine. No one is going to die. He won’t let anyone die.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks lowly.

“Uh, yep.” He can’t even put any effort into selling the lie. “You said… You said persecute? I— We were just gonna web him up good and call the poli— oh. Uh, the Avengers? And make sure they escort him to the Raft.”

Daredevil puts his head in his hands and mumbles something that sounds like, “I am so lucky you called.”

Peter can only assume he’s being sarcastic.

“Okay.” Daredevil lifts his head and puts his hands on his hips. “Okay. Your whole plan _—if_ you can call it that—is hereby garbage and we won’t be consulting it further. Am I being clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Peter barks, snapping off a salute.

Daredevil shoots him what he can guess is a withering glare. The actual devil horns and the weird eyes on his mask only make it scarier. They look less like eyes the more he looks at them. How can he _see?_

“This is why I work alone,” he grumbles.

Peter and Miles trade a glance. Peter sticks out his elbows and Miles goes into a coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

Daredevil ignores them.

“We need two teams. One to gather evidence from where he’s keeping the mutates and the other to confront Fisk. Which brings us to the major roadblock in this whole mission: how are we going to get to Fisk? He knows I’m after him. Fisk Tower is a fortress. We won’t be able to touch him there. We need to get him on neutral ground. If we don’t have a way to do that, game over. Everybody go home.”

He stares at each of them in turn. “Does anyone have an in with Fisk?” he asks, clearly not expecting a positive answer.

They all turn and look at Aaron.

He sighs. “We’d have to convince Owlsley that I have a reason to request an audience with Kingpi— uh, Fisk. I’ve never even gotten close to the big guy before. It’ll be a stretch.”

“Owlsley?” Daredevil echoes. “His right-hand man, _Owlsley?”_

“Yeah?”

“You can contact him and he’ll come meet you in person?”

_“Yeah.”_

A slow grin splits Daredevil’s lips revealing white teeth bared in a sharp smile. “This, I can work with. How do you kids feel about kidnapping and extortion?”

“Oh my God,” he says under his breath.

This is a nightmare. What have they gotten themselves into?

~ **Miles** ~

**Now…**

“It’s go time. They’ve got Owlsley and Fisk is on his way.”

He and Gwen make quick work of sweeping the building. There are only a couple of scientists/kidnappers/accomplices lurking around but they don’t put up a fight as they web them up and continue through the building.

They find an office near the back entrance and he starts the process of backing up the hard drive onto the same USB he used when he infiltrated Oscorp. Making a mental note to ransack the file cabinet on their way out, they leave it to do its thing and continue their sweep.

The mutates are in a room in the middle of the building, caged and alone. He stops in the doorway, but Gwen strides right in and starts breaking locks off of cages, unfazed by their appearance. This is the first close up look he’s had of the damage Oscorp did.

There’s Grizz, a man-sized bear. Scratch that. A bear-sized man bear? He’s huge and hairy, but definitely still a man, that’s the thing.

Another has thick coarse hairs sprouting out of his arms, all eight of them.

A third is oozing something thick and yellow from his pores and when he blinks, inner eyelids flash across his eyes.

It’s a horror show.

“Who the hell are you?” One of them snarls, their voice coming out in an actual growl.

“We’re getting you out,” Gwen says. “They won’t be able to hurt you anymore. Our friends are taking care of them right now.”

“Bullshit!” The tarantula looking guy says. “Why should we believe you?”

“Because a few weeks ago I _was_ you,” Gwen snaps as she unlocks his cage.

“Why didn’t they lock you up with us then?” a woman covered in thick black and white fur demands. “You’re working for them! This is a trick!”

“It’s not! I got away. I got help.” She gestures to Miles.

Oh shit.

He waves awkwardly. “Uh, hey guys. Been looking for you for a while.”

Someone snorts but he can’t tell who. He thinks it might have been the bi-pedal hippo person. They all start coming out of their cages at once.

“If you’re telling the truth then you won’t have a problem with me walking out right now.”

“Oh. Of course not. We were hoping though… If you wouldn’t mind helping us—,”

The panda woman laughs. “Always a catch. Always strings attached.”

“They’re not strings! It’s… We’re _asking_ for your help to stop the people who did this to us once and for all! Don’t you want to see them locked away forever?”

“I’d like to see their heads on sticks,” Tarantula spits and a chorus of agreement echoes his statement. “Out of my way. I’m out of here.”

“Me too! Let me out!”

“Yeah, let us out!”

Miles quickly moves out of the way and they storm out into the hall. He trades a glance with Gwen. This is _not_ going how they’d hoped.

“Grizz?” Gwen asks of the only one left in the room.

Grizz shakes his head. “Don’t call me that. My name’s Max.”

“Max? Will you help us?”

He shakes his head again. “I just wanna go home and be with my family again without looking like this. Let me know when you figure out a way to make that happen.”

~ **Harley** ~

**Now…**

“Give ‘em hell, Iron Legacy.”

Harley stills, his watch not quite fastened to his wrist.

He doesn’t hate it. The name.

“Gave up on Iron Lad, huh?”

Tony shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Legacy is more fitting.”

He finishes buckling the band of his watch. “You’re not gonna follow me, are you?”

“Nope. Retirement is sounding better by the day. I’ve got a kid on the way, you know.”

Harley rolls his eyes _hard._ “I noticed,” he says dryly. “You’d really retire? Hang up the suit for good?”

Tony scratches his beard and looks off into the distance. “I realized I’ve been pushing the team to pass things off to S.H.I.E.L.D. that I’d normally insist we handle and…” He looks at Harley. “Truth is, I’m tired. Call me crazy but I trust you kids. The future’s bright and it looks like it’ll be in the hands of three spider-kids and their iron guardian angel. The Avengers will likely always have their role, but the everyday hero stuff? That’s all you guys.”

“I’m not a hero,” he says. He’s just… Harley. A small-town southern hick trying to hack it in the big city and keep his _actual_ hero boyfriend alive.

Tony gives his watch a significant look. “Sure you’re not.” He picks up his long abandoned-coffee and says, “Go keep your spider-idiot from doing anything spectacularly stupid and for the love of God, call me when it’s over. I’m going to be staring at my phone until I hear from you.” He takes a gulp from his mug and grimaces.

“Sure thing, Iron Mom.”

“I’m allowed to worry!” He sets aside his mug. _“Micio micio,_ where are you? I need company that won’t judge me.”

He checks the strap on his watch and steps out into the hall as Tony gets on his hands and knees to drag the poor cat out from under the still warm machinery she’d been napping under.

He’s finally ready. Now he only needs to know where to go.

He calls Peter but the line rings and rings and then goes to voicemail.

Heart pounding, he calls Miles. He answers on the second ring.

“Miles? Where are you? What’s happening?”

_Why didn’t Peter answer?_

“Me and Gwen are good. Go help the others. They’re at the Shit Tits!”

“Excuse me, the _what?_ Why aren’t you together?”

“In Brooklyn! Newtown Creek? The wastewater plant? Me and Gwen released the mutates and are getting all the evidence together now. Peter went with Prowler and Daredevil to take out Fisk.”

His jaw works for a full five seconds before he manages to make a sound.

“Are you _shitting me?_ Why’d you split up? What happened to the plan? Who the hell is _Fisk?”_ He’s already Googling the GPS coordinates of the Newtown Creek Wastewater Plant as he silently curses Peter and his little crew of spiderlings.

“It was all Daredevil’s plan! He said we needed to get the evidence and free the mutates while they confront Fisk—that’s Kingpin—otherwise he’d have someone destroy everything and disappear the mutates and we’d miss our chance.”

“Fuck, okay. Are you and Gwen alright?”

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. I tried calling Peter a little bit ago though and he didn’t answer.”

He feels sick. “He didn’t answer for me either.”

There’s a heavy silence between them and it feels like 16 days of silence. 16 days of not knowing. 16 days of fear and desperation.

“Go,” Miles says, sounding older than his 14 years. “We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Coordinates obtained, he twists the face of his watch and nanites flow out of it in a wave that covers him from head to toe until he’s fully encased in a suit reminiscent of the one he found sitting on the rundown sofa in his garage eight years ago. He stayed true to the classic Iron Man red but, like the suit Tony made for him, he paired it with silver rather than Tony’s gold.

“Hello, Iron Legacy,” K.E.L.S.I.E. says, her light drawl warm and welcoming in his helmet.

Damn, Tony works fast. He didn't even notice him updating K.E.L.S.I.E.'s database with the new name.

“Hey Kels,” he says in return. “You got the coordinates from my phone?”

“Sure do. Want me to take you there?”

_Here’s to not dying._

He blows out a large breath and says, “Yep.”

A bright burst of golden light erupts from the energy core on his chest and in an instant it envelopes him and he vanishes.

~ **Peter** ~

**Earlier…**

Everything hinges on whether or not Fisk shows up. If he sends someone else or leaves Owlsley high and dry, they’re screwed, Miles’s parents are as good as dead, and he gets away with everything. They’re counting on that temper. They’re counting on him being so furious that he’ll walk right into their hands without a second thought.

His knees are trembling as a black SUV pulls into the parking lot. They need Fisk to show up for their plan to work, but a tiny voice in the back of his head whispers a plea to the universe that he stays away—that he be granted the small mercy of not having to face him yet. He’s not ready.

The door opens and a bead of sweat trickles down his spine.

The man that steps out is _huge._ All shoulders and big barrel chest, towering over all of them. Tomato-faced with veins bulging from his bald head, he takes a moment to take them all in: Owlsley webbed to the digester egg, Prowler and Daredevil side-by-side facing Fisk dead on, and Peter behind them.

That’s him. That’s the guy that can kill him.

His pulse pounds as Fisk bears his teeth and glares at Daredevil.

“I should have known it was you,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft.

His eyes flick up to meet Peter’s through the mask and his heart stops dead in his chest.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

“It’s over Fisk,” Daredevil growls. “Stand down and no one has to break any bones.”

Fisk laughs, cold and humorless. “Oh, I’ll be breaking bones. Just not yours. You’re nothing but a fly desperately trying to drown itself in my soup.”

Breath frozen in his lungs, Peter’s stomach threatens to heave itself into his mouth.

_Me? Is he coming after me?_

_Fisk is the one that can kill me._

He thinks he might pass out from the terror choking his lungs but when Fisk turns, it’s _Aaron_ he faces as Scorpion and Tombstone appear from the shadows to flank him. Where did they come from? Did they _walk?_ Did Fisk let them out a block early so they could make a dramatic entrance? Did—

“I don’t tolerate traitors,” Fisk whispers in a frosty tone. “You’re going to watch me crush your family with my bare hands. Then I’ll snap your neck and with your dying breath you’ll thank me for showing mercy.”

The ground shifts underfoot and his Spidey sense flares in warning. He leaps just as a giant hand forms from the dirt and tries to grab him. No, not dirt. _Sand._ Was there sand here earlier?

“The hell—,”

Safely stuck to the digester egg, he watches in fascination as the sand resolves into a tall broad-shouldered man.

“Surrender now,” Fisk says, “give me back what’s mine, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

A disk-shaped robot whizzes out from behind him with a soft whirring sound and hovers over his shoulder.

“Oh boy, you sure know your way around a sales pitch,” Peter babbles despite the way his heart is rabbiting in his chest. “I can see how you talked so many people into your pockets. Hey uh, Mr. Scorpion? Scorp? Can I call you Scorp? Does your tail like, come off or do you have to ride the subway like that? Man, I thought my commute was rough.”

“I’m going to squish you like a worm!” Scorpion snaps.

“Oh sorry, where are my manners? I’m _Spider-_ Man actua—,”

“Enough!” Fisk bellows. “Kill the extras. Davis is mine.”

He leads the charge, heading not for Peter with his big mouth or Daredevil who’s been trodding all over his plans for a year, but for _Aaron._

_Crap!_ For Miles’s sake, he can’t let anything happen to Aaron.

Scorpion and Tombstone rush at Daredevil who welcomes them with raised batons. The sand guy is eyeballing Peter but with his Spidey sense on his side, he doesn’t see him as much of a threat. He has to get to Aaron.

He pushes off the egg and almost immediately has to twist in midair to avoid… a laser beam?

The hell?

He hits the ground in a roll and gets to his feet only to nearly fall on his ass as the ground whips out from under him and forms into a fist bigger than him and aiming to crush him like… well, like a bug.

He dives out of the way and keeps rolling to avoid more laser beams.

That little robot is targeting him and only him! What the heck! Thank goodness for Mr. Stark’s training bots. Now if only they’d covered how to fight semi-corporal sand monsters at the same time.

He jumps to avoid another laser but the ground shifts and he slips. The laser catches him in the shoulder but luckily glances off the Iron Spider and blackens a patch of grass. If Harley hadn’t convinced him to wear the armored suit he’d be dealing with a _nasty_ burn.

Another laser hits him but this time it nearly ricochets into Daredevil.

Air combat it is!

He shoots a web and pulls himself up into the air only to almost immediately fall on his face as his web is cut down. He rolls onto his back to find that the robot now has a blade spinning at dazzling speed around its exterior and it can slice through his webs with ease.

What? _How?_

His webbing isn’t easy to cut through. It takes _time_ to get through the tough sticky ropes designed to carry him around the city and stop speeding cars. Unless you’ve got some kind of special metal then you’ll be sawing at it for a while. It’s almost like this robot was designed specifically to—,”

“Enjoying the Spider-Slayer, Spider-Man?” Fisk taunts. Aaron is still on his feet but there’s blood soaking through the face of his mask. Broken nose? “I had it commissioned just for you.”

“Aw you shouldn’t have!” he chirps, dodging another flurry of lasers as another sandy fist swings at his head. “I don’t need fancy gifts to feel special!”

“Before it kills you, let me know of any adjustments that need to be made. I’m sure your new friends will enjoy the chance to test their skills.”

A chill runs down his spine. Gwen. Miles.

He can’t let this thing leave this lot.

“Less murdery would be an improvement. Also, could you make it talk? Everyone knows I love a good banter but it hits different when no one complains.”

“If I complain would you feel better?” Daredevil wheezes from within Tombstone’s chokehold.

“Mr. Devil, I would be honor—,”

A wave of sand, bigger than he can dodge, rushes at him. He shoots a web to pull up and out of the way but the Spider-Slayer slices through it and the wave smashes into him like a brick wall, knocking him off his feet. It rushes over him, compacting and increasing in pressure until his suit groans.

He’s stuck. He can’t move. His breath is fast and hot on his face. Everything is dark and he’s trapped. His suit creaks and then cracks as sand begins to trickle into his mask.

~ **Miles** ~

He and Gwen fly through the streets, slinging webs as fast as they can. Gwen moves with a ferocity that betrays her frustration with the mutates, a plastic sack of documents from the filing cabinet swinging wildly from her arm. Meanwhile, Miles is just desperate. Uncle Aaron is the only family he’s got right now and Peter… They just got him back and now he’s radio silent. He’s been giving him the cold shoulder and for what? He’s _Spider-Man._ How could he expect him to put him before that? He always puts the city first. That’s why New York loves him. That’s why he’s always been Miles’s favorite hero.

And now he’s not answering their calls. He picks up the pace.

~ **Harley** ~

Harley blips into existence in the middle of a war zone. He barely reacts fast enough to dodge a stinger to the face and instead gets nailed in the back of the head with… a laser beam? He dodges a second beam and fires a repulsor at the robot in retaliation. The stupid thing is quick but a few more blasts and it’s out of the air.

“Stark?” a booming voice laughs. “You called _Stark_ for backup?”

He turns and finds himself face-to-face with a giant brute of a man that he can only assume is Kingpin or Fisk or whatever everyone is calling him now.

Aaron is on the ground bleeding at his feet and clutching his side and Daredevil is going hand-to-hand with Scorpion while a gray-faced brick shit house that can only be Tombstone struggles to remove a bucket from his head.

“I’m prepared to fight you too, Stark,” Fisk spits. “Do you think I didn’t make plans for when you _heroes_ finally decided to make your move? It’s hopeless. I own every piece on the board. You’ve already lost the game. Give up now, stop wasting my time, and I’ll let you live.”

He thinks fast. Should he talk to Fisk and give away that he’s not Tony and maybe give Aaron a chance to catch his breath? Or should he dive in and see if he can catch him by surpr—

Hold on. Where’s Peter?

He tries to discretely look around without letting Fisk out of his sight. There’s some guy webbed to one of the giant metal egg things looking bored and there’s trails of webbing on the ground and on the eggs but no Spider-Man in sight. Just the weird eggs and a mound of sand.

Well, that decides it then. He can’t stand around and talk shop when Peter isn’t answering anyone’s calls and he doesn’t know where he is.

He fires a repulsor blast at Fisk and it hits him in the center of his chest.

He grunts at the impact and takes half a step back and then smiles. There’s a singed hole in his suit and under it where there should be burned flesh, is a black vest, unmarked. Unharmed.

“I told you I was prepared.”

He takes something out of his pocket. A device of some kind.

He doesn’t wait to find out what it does and charges at him.

Fisk takes aims but before he can activate it, he fires two portals from his gauntlets in rapid succession, a blue-rimmed portal directly in front of him and an orange-rimmed one behind Fisk. He sprints through the blue and there’s a slight squeezing sensation and then he’s running at Fisk’s back, out the other side of the orange portal.

This is going to take some getting used to.

Despite his stumble as he acclimates, he maintains the element of surprise and smashes his fist into the back of Fisk’s skull.

Fisk stumbles under the unexpected hit and spins to face him.

“Oh come _on,”_ he blurts. That should have knocked him out! What’s this guy made out of? Titanium?!

Fisk’s eyes narrow. “You’re not Stark. Who are you?”

“His Legacy,” he says, only half-sarcastic.

Where’s Spider-Man? Where’s _Peter?_ He wants to scream it at him, but Harley Keener and Peter Parker are public figures and it’s no secret how close they are. Judging by everything Gwen’s lawyer pal told them, Fisk is _smart._ He’s going to realize who he is and if he shows too much concern for Spider-Man in front of him it won’t be difficult to put the puzzle pieces together, especially after he raced to Spider-Man’s rescue back in August.

He can’t give away Peter’s secret identity but he _especially_ needs to keep it away from this guy. It’d be like signing his death warrant. _May’s_ death warrant. He’s got to play it safe even though he’s screaming inside.

_Where could he possibly be?_

Fisk’s gaze sharpens. “You’re the boy. The one who took out my Rhino.”

His focus snaps back to Fisk. _“Your_ Rhino?”

Fisk scoffs. “None of you have any idea what you’re up against, do you? I’ll give you a hint.” He leans in and says, “I _own_ every mutant this city has to offer. They are under _my_ thumb. _My_ control. If the Avengers have taught me anything, it’s that those who control the mutants control the city. Stark got to Spider-Man first, but I’ll have the rest, mark my words.”

His mind is reeling. _That’s_ what all of this was about? Trying to steal Oscorp’s formula. Sending Prowler to free the mutates only to re-kidnap them for himself. It’s about “owning” the mutant population? Controlling the city? What is he planning to _do_ with all of them? Petty crime?

“He never would have joined you.”

Fisk smiles. “I know. That’s why Sandman is going to kill him. That is, if he’s not dead already.”

_Sandman._

A firecracker goes off in his head. He pivots towards the sand pile and now that he’s looking he can see that the grains are moving—not trickling down the sides but trickling _up_ and condensing together under an invisible pressure.

There’s movement behind him and too late, he ducks and dodges away from Fisk.

_Too late. Too late._

Fisk is pointing that device at him and as the air between them ripples Aaron leaps in front of him and takes the blast. All at once his suit powers down—his claws no longer crackle with electricity and his goggles go dim.

_Shit!_ If that would have hit him he’d be basically naked. His nanites would be dust and he’d be just Harley Keener facing down a supervillain in his blue jeans.

“Go,” Aaron grunts, planting his feet. He shoves his goggles up onto his forehead and bares his claws, no longer electrified but still sharp. “I can hold him off a little longer.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. As Fisk roars furiously, he launches two new portals, first blue then orange, and a second later he’s across the lawn, standing in front of the sand pile.

Peter’s under there somewhere but… how the fuck is he supposed to fight _sand?_

Oh right. With fire.

He flares all four repulsors and steps onto the sand. Immediately it slides from under his feet and a bellow of pain shakes the air. Sentient sand? What the hell is going on with this city? He takes another step and another, holding his palms over the pile. Soon enough he uncovers a red and blue leg, then another, then a torso.

Peter’s mask dissolves from his nose down, releasing a waterfall of sand. He sits up, hacking and coughing, limbs trembling as the sand retreats away from him.

The grains pile up higher and higher until they form a man.

He doesn’t wait for them to finish before he starts blasting away at the thing’s torso. Sand flies and reforms and blasts away and reforms. He stalks closer, not letting up. He’s either going to turn this thing to glass or scatter it so thoroughly it can’t reform.

“Harley,” Peter croaks behind him. “River.”

That’s a better idea.

He fires a blue portal behind the sand creature and then plants an orange one over the river just beyond the metal eggs. It’s at the very edge of his range but it holds. He fires blast after blast, corralling the sand monster back towards the blue portal until finally, with a yell, it tumbles backward and there’s a splash of something large hitting the water.

He dissolves the portals and rushes back to Peter.

“I underst—,” Peter falls into another coughing fit.

He has to fight not to hold him like he wants to—to see for himself that he’s okay. They’re still in a fight. There are still too many eyes on them. It would be catastrophic if this man were to find out Peter’s identity. There would be no negotiations. No going back. He’d be hunted.

“Are you okay?” he asks, quiet as he can.

Peter nods and gets his breathing back under control although his hands continue to tremble. “I understand Anakin’s character so much right now. I’ve got sand everywhere.” He bends his arm and there’s a harsh gritting of sand against metal.

“They’re nanites,” Harley says. “If you recall the suit and put it back on it should clear the sand.”

“No time,” Peter says, painstakingly getting to his feet as his mask forms to fully cover his face once more. His legs are shaking so bad Harley has to clench his hands into fists to keep from going to him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks instead of putting his arms around him.

“Still not a fan of small spaces,” Peter answers quietly. He takes a breath and pulls back his shoulders. “We need to finish this.”

His head is on a swivel like he’s looking for danger but the only baddies Harley sees still fighting are Scorpion, who’s looking rough, Tombstone, still fighting his bucket, and Fisk, who has a few cuts from Aaron’s claws but doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by them as he tries to pummel Aaron into the ground.

“Where’s…” Peter’s gaze fixes on the charred robot thing Harley shot out of the air. “Did you do that? Make sure it comes back with us. Fisk said it was built specifically to take me out. I wanna know everything it can do.”

_What?_

“Roger Dodger. I dunno about you but I wanna kick this guy’s ass.”

He can feel Peter’s grin through the mask.

“Let’s get to kickin’ then. You mind—,”

Peter cuts off abruptly as he leaps onto him and shoves him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and barely avoiding… a _lightning bolt?_ He lands flat on his back but Peter rolls with the momentum of his tackle and is back on his feet in a second, braced and facing the sourcing of the lightning bolt.

“Shit,” Peter mutters.

He scrambles to his feet and his chest goes cold.

Standing under the lights of the parking lot are a dozen figures of various shapes and sizes, one of which is still crackling with electricity. A man curls his hands into fists as from the waist down, his legs morph into a torrent of water that raises him off the ground. Dozens of glowing eyes dot the ground around the feet of a mangy-looking man. _Rats,_ he realizes. That’s an army of _rats._

In the center, one figure towers above the rest, the red eyes of his mech-suit glowing on either side of the protruding rhino horn…

_I own every mutant this city has to offer._

“Shit,” he echoes.

“Firebird?”

God. They weren’t supposed to ever use these. It was just for fun. It was supposed to be for fun.

“Let’s do it,” he says, grim determination lacing the words as fear curdles in his gut. He’s not made for this. It doesn’t come natural to him like it does Peter. He can’t just suit up and leap headfirst into life or death situations like he does.

But he can’t back out now. People are counting on him. _Peter_ is counting on him.

“Just like in the paintball room,” Peter says under his breath as static charges in the air. “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah.” He releases a shaky breath. “Let’s go.”

~ **Miles** ~

“What the hell? Who are _they?”_ Gwen exclaims.

His arms ache from their desperate flight across the city but he doesn’t slow as they approach the wastewater plant and neither does Gwen. Peter is shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who can only be Harley in his new suit, but there’s no time for relief. They’re staring down a dozen unknown enemies and behind them, Uncle Aaron is one-on-one with Fisk and looking ready to drop at any moment while Daredevil is a whirling fury fighting Scorpion and Tombstone at the same time.

They stop on top of a maintenance shed, torn on which way to go. Someone’s gotta help Uncle Aaron, but Peter and Harley can’t possibly take on that many threats on their o—

Peter and Harley burst into motion. They’re a whirlwind, moving in sync, an extension of one another—completely trusting that the other will be there. Peter leaps from Harley’s shoulder and with a web, yanks someone off balance, and an instant later they get a repulsor blast to the chest and collapse. Before the body has even hit the ground, Peter swings Harley out of the way of a bolt of electricity that arcs through the air from one of the figures in front of them. Harley doesn’t miss a beat, spinning with the motion and firing a flurry of blasts that scatter the enemy force.

Continuous motion, always moving, revolving around each other as they hold ground in front of a dozen enemies.

“I’m going down there,” Gwen says, dropping the straining plastic sack full of paper documents. It barely held together on their trip but they don’t dare web it lest the papers get ruined. Hopefully, it’ll go unnoticed here on the shed. “They can’t keep that up forever.”

“I gotta help my uh— Prowler.”

“Go Team Spider,” Gwen says, ignoring his slip-up and holding out her fist. He bumps it with his own and then she leaps, swinging out over the bad guys.

He doesn’t stick around to watch but a scream of terror tells him that she’s taking full advantage of her unexpected appearance.

He’s close when Uncle Aaron flies back under the force of Fisk’s fist and doesn’t move.

_No._

He lands with a thud on the grass between them, halting Fisk’s forward motion.

“You,” Fisk says, stopping short and diligently wiping a line of blood from the fine cut on his cheek. “I’ve been looking for you. How convenient that you’ve walked into my hands.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.” He slides his feet apart, ready to move, ready to fight, ready for whatever Fisk throws at him.

Fisk snorts. “Please. Don’t waste my time. He’s nothing to you. Just another criminal that you’d happily throw in prison without a second thought any other night. Do you truly wish to risk your life for low-life scum like him?”

“If I only saved people who’ve never made a mistake in their life, I wouldn’t save anyone,” he says.

“Wise words from someone so untried. Shall we see whether some experience with life’s hard knocks changes your mind?”

He curls his hands into fists as his heart jackrabbits in his chest.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He can’t back down now.

Fisk rushes him and he flickers out of sight, skirting around him, and slams his palms flat against his back as he releases a shock of electricity.

The electricity spreads across his torso and dissipates as Fisk straightens up, chuckling like he didn’t feel a thing.

He steps back, heart in his throat as Fisk’s eyes search the night for him. What’s going on? What kind of man is this? Does he have powers too? That should have taken him to his knees at the very least. That— What’s that black vest under his shirt?

“Clever,” Fisk says softly. “Unfortunately, I’m cleverer.”

Miles flinches as Daredevil charges in, blood on his teeth, roaring and wild. He attacks Fisk with a flurry of blows that hit so hard and fall so fast that Fisk takes a step back under the onslaught.

“Dude,” Miles says, “I’m so glad you’re on our side.”

Daredevil doesn’t turn away from the fight but he can see the satisfied snarl curling his lips.

He rushes to Uncle Aaron’s side. He’s still breathing and as he hauls him up onto his shoulder he groggily returns to consciousness.

“Hang on,” he tells him and then webs up to the top of one of the eggs and leans him against the railing.

“Uncle Aaron, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Uncle Aaron says, panting, eyes hazy with pain, blood on his face, his torso, everywhere. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look good. I gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No.” He grabs his wrist. “No hospital.”

Tears well up in his eyes and try as he might his voice shakes as he says, “I can’t lose you. With mom and dad… I can’t. You have to tell me the truth.”

“I swear I’ll be okay,” he says, eyes sharpening to meet his gaze with clarity. “Your parents too. They’re getting better every day. Everything’s going to be okay, Miles. I’m so sorry I caused all of this. I’ll do anything I can to make things right.”

“Anything?” Miles asks.

“Anything,” Uncle Aaron promises.

“Then sit this one out.” He punctuates the order with a burst of webbing that sticks him to the railing.

Uncle Aaron yanks against the webbing but he’s stuck fast. “Miles!”

“For me,” he continues, rising to his feet. “Let us handle it from here.”

Looking up at him, Uncle Aaron reluctantly relaxes against the railing. “When did you go and grow up on me, little man?”

_I had no choice._

No. That’s not exactly true, is it? Peter gave him a choice months ago. He didn’t understand it at the time. He didn’t get why Peter seemed sad when he asked him to train him. He gets it now. It’s a lot. Too much for one person to shoulder alone. But with a team…

He looks out over the lot to where Peter, Harley, and Gwen are fighting together against a horde of super mutants.

With a team, it’s not so heavy.

“Stay here. Someone will be back for you when it’s over.”

“What do you mean _‘someone’?”_

He doesn’t answer and leaps off the railing. Uncle Aaron shouts behind him as he snaps his arms out from his sides and the wind catches the fabric under his arms—carrying him into the center of the fight. Invisible, he goes unnoticed by both sides and he relies on his Spidey sense to keep him from getting hit by bright bolts of electricity and jets of water as well as repulsor blasts and webbing.

He’s never tried this before. Alt-Miles told him that in a pinch his Venom Blast can detonate like a bomb—everyone in a small radius getting hit with a sizable shock of electricity. The draw-back is, it takes a massive amount of energy to produce and he’ll almost certainly be unable to keep fighting afterward.

But Peter’s here with Harley and Gwen. He trusts them to take care of it. If he has the chance to cut down half of their enemies in one go, isn’t it his responsibility to try?

He goes visible and the reaction around him is immediate. A man made of water sloshes back in shock and the guy who keeps shooting out lightning bolts yells.

“Remix!” Gwen shouts. “What the _hell_ are you—,”

Peter curses and together he and Harley begin fighting towards him. Harley aims his gauntlet but luckily there are too many bodies between them to get a clear shot. He can’t let them get close.

“I’m trying something new!” he says.

He takes a deep breath as the mutants around him collect themselves and move to attack.

They don’t get the chance.

He pulls on something deep inside of him and rips it out, letting it flow through him and out into the world.

Screams of pain. Flashes of light.

His energy drains out of him so fast his vision goes black and his ears ring. He sways on his feet and then everything fades away.

~ **Peter** ~

The electricity that arcs from Miles is so potent he can feel it disperse through the air as he sprints across the grass, Harley at his side.

Seven mutants get caught in the blast but only six of them convulse before dropping to the ground and lying still. The seventh, Electro, glows with crackling energy and rises into the air, laughing as he stares at his hands in wonder.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Remix!” Gwen screams. Vermin’s rat army is separating her from the rest of them and preventing her from getting to Miles as he sways and then drops, unconscious and unprotected with a super-powered Electro hovering above him on spiking bolts of energy.

He doesn’t slow. His Spidey sense is a persistent buzz at the base of his skull, warning him of danger on all sides. Miles’s shock wave took out nearly the last of the mutants but Vermin and Rhino were out of range. While Vermin seems singularly focused on keeping Gwen on her own, Rhino blocks their path to Miles like a massive wall of metal.

They don’t have _time_ to go head-to-head with Rhino. One of them needs to get to Miles _now._ Electro could easily kill him. Every instinct in him screams for him to go to Miles. To put himself between Miles and any danger that could come to him. But… someone has to keep Rhino and Electro occupied. He can handle them and Harley… He trusts Harley to do whatever it takes to get Miles to safety.

Rhino charges.

“Harley, go!”

Cursing up a storm, Harley fires a quick succession of portals and is gone in a blink. Their conversation last night in the gym comes to mind—about the last time he faced off with Rhino, about being ready—but he can’t focus on that now. This isn’t like last time. That won’t happen again. He’s prepared. He has a team and someone needs to get Miles out of here.

He waits until the last second to pivot and roll out of the way of Rhino’s charge, barely dodging in time. His suit is giving him fits. The sand is locking things up and the normally intuitive suit is slowing his reaction times.

He springs to his feet but Rhino is already turning, surprisingly agile despite the huge clunky mech suit. He doesn’t remember him being this quick on his feet last time. Did he get an upgrade?

He dodges again as Rhino roars, barreling at him like a train, and chances a glance at Miles as Harley helps him to his feet, one arm over his head as nanites form a shield over them, a meager protection against anything Electro might throw at them.

The knot of fear in his chest loosens. Miles is conscious, if shaky on his feet, but he’s up and Harley is with him.

Then a bolt of electricity strikes Harley’s shield and he drops to one knee, screaming as electricity courses through him, his metal suit serving as a conductor rather than protection.

_No._

Harley goes slack on his knees barely catching himself from face-planting as the attack ends.

“Get out of here!” he screams, heart in his throat. “Use a portal!”

If anything happens to him—

“I can’t!” Harley snaps, stiffly getting back to his feet. “Without a nanosuit, the pressure would crush him!”

Fuck.

“‘M okay,” Miles slurs. “I c’n keep goin’.”

They ignore him.

“I’ll hold them off while you make a break for it,” Peter says grimly.

“By yourself? But—,”

“This is what I _do!_ Do you trust me or not?”

Harley’s blank faceplate stares at him and maybe it’s all in his head but he swears he can feel the emotion bleeding off of him—pain, terror, concern, reluctance. But also trust. Most of all trust. Bone-deep and all-encompassing trust.

Harley nods curtly and hauls Miles onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, ignoring his protests.

“Get me an opening,” he says.

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“You can do it.” He says it like a fact. Not a reassurance. Not encouragement. _Fact,_ plain and simple.

The ground trembles underfoot as Rhino bares down on his once again. There’s nowhere for him to go this time. If he dodges, Rhino is running right at Harley and Miles. He’s got no choice but to take the hit.

He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, and doesn’t think, only reacts.

He can see the surprise flicker in Rhino’s eyes the moment before they collide—immovable object meeting unstoppable force. He’s always used his speed and agility with Rhino—never his strength. He was never sure who would win that contest, but now he doesn’t dwell on that. He digs in and holds, catching Rhino by the horn.

The shock of it rattles through his wrists, up his arms, through his shoulders, and down his back. His feet skid, tearing up grass and dirt as Rhino’s momentum refuses to yield and his muscles strain.

But he holds him.

Muscles screaming. Bones aching. Ground giving.

He holds him.

The whistle and pop of Harley’s repulsors snaps him out of his shock and with a twist of his arms, he throws Rhino to the ground just in time to avoid a ball of electricity.

“Holy shit!” Harley exclaims. “Since when have you been able to do that?”

“Uh, since always, I think.”

Harley laughs as he rains a flurry of blasts at Electro. They don’t do much to him but they’re distracting.

Lighter than before, confident, he says, “I can handle them from here. Get him somewhere safe.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Harley hikes Miles higher onto his shoulder. “Got that opening for me?”

“Coming right up!”

Rhino, now wary of him in a way he’s never been before, tenses and readies his fists as Peter runs at him.

Rather than fighting, he plants both palms on Rhino’s helmet and springs over him. Once airborne, he fires a flurry of webs at Electro, hoping to irritate and distract more than incapacitate. One thing they learned very quickly is that his webs conduct electricity and any strands that connect him to Electro mean a very bad time for him. His muscles are still aching from that lesson.

Electro tears away the webbing, melting it off as he screams and surges towards him on crackling spikes of power.

“Go!” he shouts to Harley.

Harley hesitates a moment longer but then turns and sprints.

Peter ducks under Rhino’s fist and flips out of the path of a ball of electricity that leaves a black scorch on the grass, narrowly missing both him and Rhino. It gives him an idea. Him and Harley aren’t the only ones vulnerable to electricity in their metal suits.

This time, _he_ charges at Rhino—sprinting as his hairs stand on end and his Spidey sense screams at the electricity building in the air. Electro is going for a big one. He’s charging up, getting ready to release a huge burst of energy all in one go.

Rhino braces his feet and grins as he gets close.

He grins in return and leaps just as Electro releases his charge, a powerful burst of electricity that arcs after him, skipping like a stone on a lake.

Rhino lunges but he pinwheels out of the way and electricity crashes into Rhino’s chest with the force of a lightning storm.

Rhino doesn’t even scream. He goes down like a sack of bricks and doesn’t get back up.

One down.

He pivots, facing Electro. “Oops! You hurt your pal!”

“He’s no friend of mine,” Electro hisses, summoning a ball of electricity into either palm. “I’m going to roast you like a—,”

He never finds out what he was going to be roasted like. A spray of water hits Electro in the face and he lights up like a fireworks show before plummeting to the ground with a _thump_ and going dark. He doesn’t move.

Panting, Gwen tosses aside the garden hose and turns off the spigot on the backside of the maintenance shed. There are patches of blood on her suit and several small tears on her legs and ankles.

“I never want to see another rat ever again,” she says with vehemence. “I’m going to have to get checked for fucking _rabies.”_

“Uhh you might want to pick a different city to live in then.”

_“Don’t_ tempt me. We have to help Daredevil. If Fisk gets away this was all for nothing and Miles’s parents…”

“Right,” he says, refocusing. She’s right. They’ve got to finish this.

Wait.

“How do you know— Did Remix—,”

“He told me his name.”

“Oh.”

Should he tell her his— No, now’s not the time. Focus up, Parker!

An orange portal appears at his side and a moment later, Harley steps out of it. “Remix is okay,” he says before either of them can ask. “I think it just took a lot out of him. He’s already up and wanting back in the fight.”

“Great,” Gwen grumbles. “Let’s finish this before he catches up then.”

She heads off, webbing across the lot to where Daredevil and Fisk are going head-to-head, both panting and bloody but still on their feet and staring each other down.

He looks like a man now. Still huge. Still intimidating. But just a man. Not the terrifying demon he imagined him to be when he first found out about the demise of Other Miles’s Peter. Maybe it’s the high of taking on so many enemies at once and coming out on top, or maybe it’s the team at his back boosting his confidence, but he’s not scared anymore. He’s not the Peter Parker that was killed by Fisk in Other Miles’s universe. He’s different. He’s not alone.

He looks at Harley out of the corner of his eye and asks, “May I?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

~ **Harley** ~

He fires off his portals and his heart squeezes at the moment Peter takes to ‘Ooo’ and ‘Ahh’ in appreciation. They’ve been leaping in and out of them all night but this is the first time they’ve had the luxury to stop and recognize the hard work and ingenuity that went into them.

Then Peter leaps through the blue and falls out of the orange directly onto Fisk’s back.

“You’re under arrest!” Peter shouts, the words echoing strangely as they carry through the portal and, at a slower rate, across the field. “You have the right to remain silent!”

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he murmurs to himself before stepping through the portal and reappearing at Fisk’s side as he stumbles around with Peter on his back like a monkey while Daredevil pants, barely keeping his feet and covered in blood.

Fisk is snarling and raging, one eye swollen shut and blood pouring from his face and staining his once immaculate suit, but Harley tunes him out and shoots the back of his knee. He collapses to the ground with a howl of pain and Peter tumbles free and rolls to his feet in one smooth motion.

“Put ‘em up! Put ‘em up!” Peter goads, fists up like a boxer as he hops around shifting his weight from one foot to the other while Fisk moans in pain, clutching at his leg. “I can keep goin’, coach! Don’t pull me out! I ain’t done!”

Yep. He’s in love with an idiot.

And okay, maybe the repulsor blast on an unenhanced and unarmored individual was a little too—

In a flash, Daredevil is on Fisk, pounding the flesh from his face with his fists and yelling in a blind rage.

“Shit!”

They spring forward in unison but Harley hesitates at the last second, not wanting to get hit, and Peter doesn’t.

“Oof!” Peter falls back, clutching his face where he took an elbow to the jaw.

His temper spikes through the roof. He points a gauntlet at Daredevil’s back and charges a blast but doesn’t fire.

“Get off of him or I blow you to bits,” he snaps.

Daredevil hauls off one last punch into the side of Fisk’s head and then lurches to his feet and bares bloody teeth at him. Fisk’s head lolls against the grass and he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t lower his gauntlet. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Daredevil says.

“His heart’s still beating,” Peter confirms and webs him to the ground for good measure as Gwen lands lightly beside them.

“Dang, I missed it,” she says.

Slowly, Harley lowers his gauntlet but doesn’t release the charge and doesn’t take his eyes off of the devil. He doesn’t trust this guy. He only knows what the news reports say about him and they say the guy leaves a lot of broken bodies in his wake. Then again, the news doesn’t have great things to say about Spider-Man either.

“Were you going to?” he asks lowly.

“I wanted to.”

“But if we hadn’t stopped you—,”

Daredevil hesitates and then, sounding more like a normal man than he has yet, says, “I don’t know. I hope not.”

Harley regards him for a moment longer and then releases the charge and the golden glow fades from his gauntlet.

“Is that… Did we do it?” he asks. “Is that all of them? I can’t _believe_ we pulled that off.”

“We told you we’re better at improv,” Miles calls out, limping towards them from the shadow of the metal egg thingys. Gwen throws an arm around his shoulders when he arrives and he leans heavily into her side, still exhausted.

“Sure,” Harley scoffs. “I still don’t get why you split up. Haven’t you ever seen Scooby-Doo?”

Daredevil cocks his head to the side. “The annotations on their plan, that was you?”

Harley rolls his eyes even though no one can see through his helmet. “Those were hopes and dreams put to paper. There was no plan outside of praying we didn’t all die.”

A smile cracks across Daredevil’s face and he looks at Peter over his shoulder. “I like this one.”

Peter gets to his feet, leaving Kingpin sprawled on his back unconscious and stuck tight to the grass. He crosses his arms. “Well tough. He’s… taken. By someone! Someone who isn’t—,”

“For the love of fuck,” Harley says over him. How? How is he such a bad liar??? Daredevil is looking between the two of them and he’s _going_ to put two and two together. They need a distraction quic—

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye but he can’t get a repulsor up in time. Tombstone, now sans bucket, is too close. He braces himself for impact, but it never comes.

Peter moves faster than he thought possible and between one blink and the next he’s between him and Tombstone. He leaps and his thighs are around Tombstone’s neck. He takes him to the ground and webs him there in the same motion as he rolls back to his feet. It’s over in seconds.

Tombstone struggles and yells, but he’s stuck tight.

“That was close,” Peter says lightly.

That was _hot. Fuck._ Did Natasha teach him that??? He’s got things to do! He can’t afford to be a horny teenager right now. Focus up! Don’t look at his thighs. _Don’t_ look at his thighs.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks.

Peter steps towards him but he stumbles back. They have to get out of here now.

“Yep! Let’s move on, yeah? Who wants to call the cleanup crew? Not it!”

He can feel Peter’s concerned frown through his mask. “Are you sure you’re oka—,”

“He’s aroused,” Daredevil says plainly.

He chokes on his spit.

“Don’t try to deny it. Just trust that I know what I’m smelling so we can move on with our mission. It’s not over until Fisk is secured.”

“You can _smell_ that?” he asks, voice shrill. _Mortifying._ Absolutely mortifying. “Man, your existence is bleak.”

Daredevil snorts, a tiny grin curling his lips. “You don’t know the half of it. Was one of you going to call your Avenger buddies to come collect the trash or are we going to stand here and stew in the sexual tension all night?”

“I’ll call Tony,” he says, taking the out with both hands now that the alternative is continuing this conversation. Peter hasn’t stopped staring at him with his big buggy glowing eyes and Gwen and Miles are obviously snickering behind their hands. Traitors.

While he talks to Tony and explains that they need a full-service bad guy clean up crew and a dedicated Iron Escort to see one Wilson Fisk into the depths of The Raft, Peter webs up the Spider-Slayer into a makeshift knapsack, and Miles and Gwen fetch the physical evidence they collected earlier.

Once he’s off the phone they regale the rest of them with the tale of their reconnaissance mission and the snub the other mutates gave them before walking out to try their hand at managing their powers out in the world.

Worrying, but he doesn’t have the energy to focus on it tonight. He’s sore all over. He wants nothing more than to drop into bed and hibernate for twelve years.

“I bet they have bags in the Visitor’s Center,” Peter says, eying the ever-growing tear in the plastic sack. Plastic sacks don’t hold up well through frantic flights across the city. Who knew?

“Too bad they’re closed,” Gwen says.

“Y’all have a Visitor’s Center for your sewage plant?” he drawls.

“It’s a very fancy sewage plant,” Peter says.

“That’s batshit crazy.”

“No, it’s people shit,” Peter says and then cracks up at his own joke.

“I want a divorce,” Harley mumbles so low only the people with enhanced hearing can hear it.

Miles and Gwen trade a look that he can’t decipher through their masks and Daredevil stares up at the sky for a long moment before silently turning and walking away to talk to the guy that’s been stuck to the egg this whole time while Peter continues laughing so hard his knees almost give out.

Harley watches Daredevil, curious as to what they’re talking about, but not enough to intrude and risk the devil’s temper.

“You should get out of here before Tony and the rest arrive,” Peter tells Aaron after he collects himself, flicking away a fake tear from his mask. Out of all of them, Aaron took the biggest beating but he looks like he’s up for traveling. Well, he’s standing at least. With Miles for support. But still. It counts.

Aaron looks at Miles. “Are we good? Are you… comin’ home?”

“I…” Miles glances at Peter and then down to his toes. “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Just no more villainy, okay?”

“I’ll be clean from now on, I swear. I won’t put you in this position again. You’re my kid. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” Miles tucks against his side and murmurs, “Let’s go home.”

They take it slow but soon enough they’re out of sight and when Harley turns around Daredevil is gone too.

“I don’t think he’s big on goodbyes,” Peter says, following his gaze.

Gwen lifts her elbows from her sides and Peter cracks up all over again.

“I can’t tell if you guys are stupid or brave for making fun of him. He could be watching, you know. All we know about him is that he can smell… Well, he can smell really well. What if he’s got supervision too?”

“Eh, it’s all in good fun,” Peter says. To Gwen, he asks, “Are you going to head out? We can handle the Avengers.”

Gwen shrugs. “Might as well. I’m not sure my body will know what to do with all the sleep it’s about to get.”

Peter snorts. “Been there.” He hesitates. “Are you… I mean, if you want to be normal and go back to college and stuff I totally get it but… it’s nice having a team. So if you want to swing by the tower sometime this weekend and… I dunno. We could train. We’ve got a paintball room. Or we could just hang out too. It’s up to—,”

“Hang out?” Gwen asks. “You mean…without masks?”

Peter shifts from foot to foot and casts a glance to Harley before he shrugs and says, “I mean, Miles already told you his name so it’s only fair, right? It’s… I’ve never actually told anyone my identity on purpose before but… first time for everything?”

Gwen tips her head to the side and considers him. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll be there.”

Peter relaxes. “Cool, cool. Umm just text me? Or I’ll text you?”

“I’ll text you,” she says. “Later, Harley. Bye, Peter.”

“See you, Gwen,” they chorus back.

Then it registers. “Wait a second!”

Gwen just laughs and webs off into the night.

“Oh come on!” Peter stomps his foot and Harley smothers a horrified laugh. “Just once I’d like to disseminate my own name and face, you know? What d’you think gave it away this time?”

“I… I don’t know,” he says. It could be anything. Was it him again? Did he slip up and call him Peter instead of Spidey? Did he act too familiar? Was it—

“Cut it out,” Peter snaps. “We’re not doing this again. It’s not your fault. It’s not like it matters anyway because it’s Gwen and I was already planning on telling her but it’s— it’s _frustrating,_ you know?”

They’re interrupted by the engine of a Quinn jet rapidly approaching. There isn’t enough open ground for it to land so it hovers overhead. Natasha waves from the cockpit as Iron Man and Falcon fly out of the carrier and Wanda perches on the lip of the doorway, feet dangling as she smiles up at the moon.

Peter skips over to start unsticking people with his dissolver and Falcon zips after him to wait on hand and—judging by his tone—give him a hard time. Typical.

“How was your big debut?” Tony asks as he lands beside him and his helmet dissolves to reveal the smug look on his face.

“I thought pile-driving Rhino was my debut.”

“Nah, that was more of a sneak preview. This—,” he gestures to his suit and then around them at all of the bad guys being cuffed and flown up into the Quinn jet by Falcon and Wanda, “—this was all you. You made your own suit. You had the option to sit it out and let others handle it but you stepped up. How’s it feel to be a hero, kid?”

He hesitates. He doesn’t _feel_ like a hero. This isn’t… This isn’t what he thought it’d be like. He’d say he’s not a hero at all but… He was right there along-side Peter wasn’t he? And he’s never doubted that Peter’s a hero. The _best_ hero.

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret,” Tony says, lowering his tone and putting an arm around his shoulders. “That feeling that you’re having right now. That impostor syndrome? It never really goes away, but I promise, you’re a hero. If not in the city’s eyes then in mine. In Peter’s. In Miles’s.” He squeezes his shoulders. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

“Well would you look at that,” Falcon says loudly. “Spidey’s keeper finally left the nest.”

“I am _not_ his keeper,” he fires back. “I refuse to accept that level of responsibility for his actions.”

Sam laughs. “You’re alright, country boy.”

~ **Peter** ~

**One Month Later…**

“You look older.”

He runs his hand over the short hairs on the back of Harley’s head—soft going down but prickly and foreign going up. He tries not to pout but his dismay must be obvious because Harley takes his hand and with an amused smile places it on top of his head where his hair is shorter than before but long enough that he can thread his fingers through it and even grab a fistful if he wanted to.

“Kept it long on top for you,” Harley tells him.

“You didn’t have to,” he says as his heart swells with gratitude. “It’s your hair.”

“I like makin’ you happy more than I like my hair.”

He watches Harley’s face as he straightens his tie for him and smooths the lapel of his jacket. Soft blue eyes flick up and meet his stare.

“Ready?”

~*~

This time as they step into the ballroom where the Starks are hosting their annual New Year’s Eve gala, they’re arm-in-arm—Harley with his Iron Legacy suit contained in his watch and him with his web-shooters secure on his wrists. It’s a far cry from the summer gala when they could hardly stand to be in the same room. It makes his head spin to think of how far they’ve come since that night. He never thought he’d be grateful for being kidnapped but he wouldn’t want to change a thing. Every bitter and hateful moment between them was worth it because it got them here.

“Can I interest you in a dry Chardonnay, hmm?” Harley asks in a stuffy accent, offering him a sparkling grape juice.

Peter turns up his nose. “I only drink wine of the finest vintage.”

“Mmm yes but first, please hang your jacket on the duvet.”

“A duvet is a blanket,” Mr. Stark says, appearing from thin air to frown at them in exaggerated annoyance. “You little gremlins don’t know the first thing about class.”

“Stark, my good man!” Harley exclaims. “How’s it hangin’ old chap?”

He snorts loudly, drawing several stares from the rich and elegant party guests—the rich and elegant party guests who do a double-take as they recognize them. Their disapproving frowns quickly morph into interest.

Mr. Stark puts an arm around each of their shoulders and steers them through the room, chattering the whole way.

“You missed the boring welcome speech and you’re just in time for appetizers. Don’t think I don’t know that was fully intentional and I’m so proud, but Pepper might be a bit miffed you missed her big pregnancy announcement so prepare for that later. Social hour is only another twenty minutes and then dinner goes for an hour and a half. After that your asses are mine to show off as I please. Don’t try to run and don’t try to hide because I _will_ find you. Yes, that is a threat aaaaannd here are the other gremlins.”

He deposits them next to where Gwen, Ned, and MJ are gathered holding drinks and chatting awkwardly.

“Please use the buddy system. Hold hands if you need to branch off from the group. Don’t talk to strangers, especially if they look like they own more than two summer homes—actually, that might apply to all of them. Just don’t talk to strangers. No getting kidnapped allowed! I have a heart condition and a kid on the way, you know. Oh hey! I’m allowed to say that publicly now.” Grinning maniacally he turns around and bellows to the room. “I’m gonna be a dad!”

There’s a smattering of polite applause and one enthusiastic whoop.

Mr. Stark cocks his head to the side. “Was that my honey bear? He was supposed to call when he landed, that little shit. Please excuse me. I have an ass to kick.”

“Hey guys,” Peter says as Mr. Stark disappears into the crowd.

“Simply smashing tête-à-tête that Stark fellow put together, is it not?” Harley says.

Snickering, he elbows him. “Cut it out.”

“Is Miles not coming?” Gwen asks.

“Nah, his parents finally got released from the hospital this morning so him and Aaron are doing a big welcome home dinner.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.”

“Can I talk to you?” MJ asks abruptly. She doesn’t bother waiting for a reply before hooking her elbow through his and dragging him away from the group.

He makes eye contact with Harley who only shrugs and does nothing to rescue him as MJ steers him behind a large group of suited men all talking loudly. Jerk.

“What’s— Are you okay? What’s going on?”

She cranes her neck to look back at their friends and then whirls back to him and slaps his bicep. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she hisses.

“What?” he asks, clutching his arm. “What are you talking about?”

She narrows her eyes, pretty brown curls falling around her face from her half-updo. “You know what.”

“I-I literally don’t? What—?”

_“Her.”_ She jabs a finger in the general direction of their friends.

Several things plink into place one after another. The high flush on MJ’s cheeks. The stilted conversation they interrupted. The way MJ and Gwen were standing beside each other but carefully angled away and not looking at each other.

“Oh my God,” he whispers.

“Don’t you dare make a scene, Parker.”

“Oh my God,” he says, louder. “I knew it! I _knew_ you weren’t straight!”

“Shut up,” she hisses. “I don’t— Tell me what— I don’t know what to do! She’s so…” She trails off, glancing over her shoulder.

His cheeks are cramping from beaming so hard. This is perfect. Gwen and MJ? So perfect.

“I call dibs on naming your firstborn.”

“Focus up,” she says, snapping in his face. “I need your help. What do I do? What should I say?”

“How should I know? You know I’m no good at this stuff.”

“Crap, you’re right.” She bites her nail. “I should have grabbed Harley.”

He gasps. “No! I can— I can help! Just uh… Be yourself?”

She sends him the flattest most unimpressed stare.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe be like 28% yourself and then ease her in from there.”

Her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. “I’m getting Harley.”

“No! No! I want to do it! I… Gwen’s great. Like, she’s smart and pretty and dedicated and—,”

“You are so not helping. I already know she’s way out of my league!”

“That’s not— No. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, you’re all of those things too.” He takes her hand and ignores the sticky clamminess. “She’d be lucky to have you. Seriously. You’re a great friend and a great girlfriend. I would know.”

She rolls her eyes, but some of the tension drains from her shoulders. “Thanks,” she says softly. “Sorry I flipped out on you.”

He squeezes her hand. “What are friends for? Besides, totally worth it for all the entertainment you’re providing tonight.”

She glares at him but there’s no heat behind it. “I don’t know what to talk to her about. Ned started talking about his roommate’s pigeon—,”

“I thought it was a crow.”

“The R.A. found out about the crow and made him release it. Apparently, it still comes by every now and again for a snack and a head scratch but now he’s brought in a pigeon.”

“Woah, that’s so cool.”

MJ shoots him a look. _“The point is,_ we were stuck in the conversation from hell and I couldn’t think of anything clever to say to get us out of it. I need ideas.”

“Okay,” Peter says, wracking his brain. “Okay, first things first. You need to lower your standards.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Hear me out! If you’re this flustered, clever is out. You’re aiming for semi-competent and not-a-dunce but hey, at least I’m pretty.”

She glowers. “I’m getting Harley.” Spinning on her heel, she stalks away, flats slapping the polished wood floor.

He scrambles after her. “Wait, no! MJ! Give me a chance! I can do better!”

~*~

“I called it from the beginning,” Mr. Stark says, draped against Pepper as she steers him down the hall towards their room, somehow managing to retain her grace with him hanging all over her as she navigates the plush carpet in her six-inch heels. “Let the record show! May thought it’d be a fling but I knew—,” He twists around to waggle a finger at where Peter and Harley are slumped into each other on the couch. “I knew this was inevitable.”

May chuckles as the door closes behind the couple and smiles at him and Harley.

Their suits are askew and only Harley’s shoulder is keeping his head up after a long night of socializing and being paraded around by Pepper and Mr. Stark to everyone who is anything to do with Stark Industries. They managed to slip away towards the end only to get caught making out in the coat closet by a very displeased Happy who turned them in to an elated, if equally exhausted, Mr. Stark.

“I have something to tell you boys,” May says.

His heart stutters to a stop in his chest. He sits up straight and beside him, Harley does the same.

He _knew_ it. Things have been going too well since the night they confronted Fisk. Gwen integrated into their group seamlessly and things are pretty much back to normal with Miles if still a little touchy about making reasonable promises. They all pulled through finals by the skin of their teeth and Miles’s parents both made full recoveries and Aaron has been on the straight and narrow. _Something_ had to go wrong but not Aunt May. Never Aunt May. It’s not supposed to be Aunt May.

“Don’t look like that. It’s good news,” she says. “Well, _I_ think it is. I quit my job. Thursday is my last day.”

“W-what?” he asks. His exhausted brain smokes and grinds as it tries to keep up. “But… You love nursing. It’s… You’ve always loved helping people.”

“That’s exactly it,” she says, energized. “I’ve decided I can better serve the community in a different role. I found a partner and we’re starting a non-profit. We’re calling it F.E.A.S.T.: Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter, and Training.” She bites her lip and then smiles and says, “We’ve got some big ideas. I think we’re really going to make an impact in the city.”

“That’s great, May,” Harley says, digging a discrete elbow into his ribs.

“Wha— Yeah, that sounds awesome,” he says. “When… When did you decide this?” He’s trying not to feel hurt. There was a time not long ago they told each other everything. Well… Not everything, but the big things. And this is big.

She shoots him a sympathetic look. “Martin and I decided to move on it while you boys were in Rose Hill and I didn’t want to distract you from your holiday. I’ve been feeling unfulfilled by nursing for a while now. I didn’t want to face it but after you moved out I had time to think about it and… Being a nurse in the Emergency Department is too reactionary. I want to do more.”

“I… Okay,” he says. He looks at Harley. “We’ll help however you need us.”

Harley nods. “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”

May smirks. “I was hoping you’d say that. We need a couple of strong backs to haul boxes bright and early tomorrow.”

They groan and fall back into the couch.

“You tricked us!” Peter complains.

“You shouldn’t be so easy to trick, sweetie,” May says, getting to her feet. She kisses each of them on the forehead and says, “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. Love you, boys.”

“Love you, Aunt May,” they chorus dutifully.

“Guess we should hit the hay,” Harley says as the elevator whisks her away. He belays that comment by wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him against his chest.

“Yeah.” He sighs and leans into the embrace, his forehead pressed against his neck. He makes no move to get up.

He’s been on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop for weeks now but… maybe there is no shoe. Maybe this is just… how it is. Between him, Miles, and Gwen they keep New York safe and Harley is only ever a phone call away if they wind up in over their heads. Even Daredevil has been a little friendlier when they happen across him. They’ve _almost_ convinced him to give them some pointers in hand-to-hand combat.

It’s been… good.

He never considered what it would be like to have a team but he likes it. He likes it a lot. He can’t imagine going back to how it was a year ago when he was on his own and fighting tooth and nail for Mr. Stark’s trust and respect.

He kisses Harley’s jaw. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I dunno,” he murmurs. “Being you. Putting up with all of my bullshit. I know I’m not easy.”

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

From anyone else, he wouldn’t believe it but Harley has never lied to him before.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Spider-Baby.” He kisses his hair and squeezes him tight, then nudges at him. “Time for bed. We’re more overdue than I thought if you’re getting all weepy on me.”

He sputters as Harley shoves him to his feet. “I’m not weepy!”

“Mhmm.” Harley pokes at him until he starts moving toward their room.

“I’m _not._ You’re such a jerk.”

“I thought you loooved me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

Despite his exhaustion, he lays awake in bed for a long time as Harley—a warm and familiar comfort pressed against his back—snores in his ear. His brain won’t stop spinning, churning through the events of the past few months. Analyzing. Considering.

Eventually, he slips from under Harley’s arm and as quietly as he can, digs a worn and frayed sheet of notebook paper from between the pages of the dusty book that MJ lent them ages ago and has lived on their nightstand ever since.

Perched on the edge of the mattress, he unfolds the page. Creased and worn, folded and unfolded dozens upon dozens of times—he never did tell Harley that Mr. Stark gave it to him.

He plucks a marker off the floor and uncaps it but hesitates with the nib hovering above the paper.

It’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day of their universe but there’s so much _more_ out there. How much of what him and Miles and Gwen do is unique to them? How much is recycled from other universes? How much is _theirs?_ How much is shared?

Peter B. keeps coming to mind. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but he made himself vulnerable, putting his freedom and his identity completely in the hands of his team—trusting them without reservation—and it paid off. It _worked._ Mary Jane didn’t hesitate to chase down the bad guy, locating Chameleon’s hideout even before back up arrived. Other Gwen and Other Miles hopped _universes_ to be there for him and help clear his name. Heck, even Deadpool had his part to play in keeping his daughter safe while all hands were on deck.

He thinks about his team. _His_ Miles and _his_ Gwen.

Harley.

Beside him, pale moonlight streaks across Harley’s face, highlighting the lock of hair that curls over his forehead, tickling his eyelashes, and the barely-there freckles that will be back with a vengeance come summer. His chest rises and falls. He sleeps deeply, peacefully—his trust in him absolute.

His fingers itch for his camera but instead, he sets the marker to the page and writes his first and only addition to Harley and Mr. Stark’s guide to mentoring.

_Partnership is important. Build a team you trust and rely on them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Happy Serotonin Wednesday!!!*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Was it....good? Did I do it? I like it but it's been living in my head so do You think it was good? What do I win? This chapter was So Hard. I am just a fluff writer! Action is hard! Validation is required for this one!
> 
> Also, Harley's suit. Him and Tony used the data from the spider-verse portal to create the portals/teleportation. Idk how clear it was but there are two ways for him to use the portal tech. He's got long-range teleportation that relies on GPS coordinates (which is how he got to the Shit Tits (which is a REAL PLACE IN BROOKLYN LMAO)) and then the short-range portals to hop around.
> 
> I can't believe there's only one chapter left 🥺 Just the epilogue to tie up the last remaining threads and also dump off a truckload of fluff before we close out. I am emotions. Thank you for sticking with me this long! Take care of yourselves out there <333


	16. Epilogue

~ **Peter** ~

The thing about being Spider-Man is, it’s his job to make judgment calls. It’s not as simple as catching bad guys and putting them behind bars. His job is to look out for the people of New York. Sometimes good people do bad things if their circumstances are dire enough. Some people are just assholes. It’s his job to suss out which is which and treat them accordingly. Sometimes he’s wrong and pays the price for it.

Tonight, flying on the hubris of a plan well-executed, he makes the wrong call.

Everything was going _so well._ He even remembered to change the sheets before he left for patrol, knowing he likely wouldn’t have time after. It must have been obvious what he was planning if the ribbing he got from Gwen and Miles when he announced he was calling it an early night was anything to go off of. Still. He didn’t let that derail him.

He picked up dinner without a hitch and was on his way home to surprise Harley with it when he came across a burglary in progress at the MOMA. He _thought_ it’d be a quick and simple stop and web. He _thought_ he could take care of it and get on with his night. He thought she was an amateur, desperate to make up lost income to cover her bills or dig herself out of debt or any of the million other things that drive people to crime when they’ve got no good options.

Then she whipped out that sound canon and rocked his world, disappearing into the night with the priceless pottery and leaving him vomiting in the street, eardrums blown to bits.

His journey back to the tower is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Even harder than lifting that building off of him after he fought Vulture. Less scary, but so freaking difficult. Dinner abandoned on a rooftop, he painstaking crawls home. The only thing keeping him from plummeting to the pavement is his stickiness. As long as he can stick, he won’t fall, even if he feels like gravity is pulling him sideways instead of down.

Finally, he tumbles through the living room window after what feels like hours and stumbles until he catches himself on the wall. Shit. His balance is all off and it feels like someone is stabbing screwdrivers into his ears. His hearing is shot—all he’s getting is a high-pitched ring.

Whatever that sound cannon thing was, it messed him up _bad._ It probably wouldn’t have been like this for a normal person but his enhanced ears couldn’t take it. It’s good that Gwen and Miles weren’t with him. Or maybe not. Maybe they would have been more cautious. Maybe they would have noticed something was off and wouldn’t have gotten blind-sided.

A hand clasps his shoulder and he jumps, spinning and nearly tripping as the room continues to move while he does not.

Harley’s there and he catches him and slowly helps him sit on the ground. His eyes are bright and eyebrows scrunched and his lips are moving rapidly as he holds him upright with one hand and pats him down with the other, searching for injuries that aren’t there and he likely wouldn’t be able to feel through the Iron Spider suit anyway.

He can’t hear a thing.

“‘M okay,” he says.

Well, he assumes he says it.

The vibrations in his throat are the only indication he even made a sound. Crap, he hopes he isn’t yelling in his face.

With a thought, his mask folds away, disappearing into the suit as he sways dangerously, but Harley’s hands on his shoulders keep him from slumping fully to the floor.

Harley scowls at him and says something else as he brushes a hand against the side of his neck, below his ear. There’s something crusted there, pulling his skin. Blood.

That tracks. Ruptured eardrums and inner ear trauma explains why he can hear fuck all and his equilibrium is jacked to hell.

Harley’s still talking but he’s never been good at reading lips and his eyes won’t focus. They keep sliding away and won’t stay fixed on anything in particular.

He wants nothing more than to lay down and close his eyes.

“There was a sound cannon thing,” he painstakingly tries to explain. “I think it messed up my inner ear.”

He never realized how disconcerting it is to not be able to hear his own voice as he speaks. He has no idea how loud he’s speaking and he’s second-guessing the shape of words he’s been speaking his whole life. He probably sounds like he’s drunk.

_‘Ya think?’_ Harley’s lips form the words as he levels him with a flat look.

He’s able to catch that much but not anything else as Harley keeps talking, wearing that half-exasperated, half-concerned expression he gets sometimes when he comes back from patrol more hurt than usual.

He wiggles his jaw, hoping for something to pop and his hearing to come back or at least his equilibrium but nothing happens. His ears hurt and all he can hear is that ringing and he still feels like gravity is pulling him sideways.

Harley cups his cheek and he reflexively leans into his touch before he realizes he’s talking again (still?) and is wanting him to look at him. He frowns and concentrates on his lips.

_‘You can’t hear me, can you?’_

“I’m sure you’re saying very sweet things to me,” he says carefully, “your mildly injured superhero boyfriend whom you love very much, but… no.”

He feels like he’s trying too hard, moving his mouth too much as he attempts to correctly form the words. How has he already forgotten how to speak? He wiggles his jaw again but nothing changes.

Harley presses a kiss to his forehead and then the room rushes around him as he’s scooped up and lifted from the ground.

He gasps, flailing for a moment before latching his arms around Harley’s neck, holding on for dear life. Harley takes a step and the world rolls. He tucks his face against his neck and tries to block it out but it’s impossible. His stomach churns.

Luckily, they don’t go far and a few steps later he finds himself being settled onto the couch. He sways dangerously until Harley puts a hand to his shoulder and presses him down until he’s lying flat on his back. It’s not much better than sitting but at least he feels less like he’s going to tip over and more like he’s on a raft floating on choppy ocean waves.

Hands caress his cheeks, recapturing his attention.

Harley’s lips are moving before he can force his eyes to focus.

_‘-you need?’_

“I’m okay.”

_‘Bullshit.’_

He catches that one clear as day and his lips twitch into a barely-there smile that fades quickly.

It’s so quiet. The journey here took all of his attention but now that he’s safe, he can’t _not_ notice the complete lack of sound. He hasn’t experienced silence like this since before the spider bite. There’s always something somewhere making noise even if it’s just the hum of the refrigerator or the traffic outside or someone breathing in the next room over. There’s always _something_ to focus on or tune out.

Now there’s nothing. Only the high-pitched whine in his ruined ears. He can’t even hear his own heartbeat. He can’t hear Harley’s.

Hands on his cheeks.

He didn’t realize how harsh his breathing had gotten until Harley forces his attention to return to him. His lips are moving but everything’s a jumble and he can’t make sense of it. He can’t tell where one word ends and the next begins.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles, hoping Harley can understand him. “Can’t hear you.”

He tries to reach out for him, but his aim is off and he ends up finding only empty air until Harley takes his hand and puts it against his chest.

Relief floods through him as he finds the steady thump of Harley’s heart under his palm. It pumps in a rhythm so familiar he thinks he might be able to pick out of a lineup at this point. He doesn’t even have to think about tuning into Harley’s heartbeat anymore. It’s the first thing he does when he walks into a room. It’s reflexive. He doesn’t like not being able to hear it while he’s so close, but feeling it helps. It helps a lot.

Hands on his cheeks.

He opens his eyes (when did he close them?) and this time Harley waits until he’s focused to ask, _‘Food?’_

That’s probably a good idea. It might kick start his healing factor. “Okay.”

Harley hesitates, then leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. Slowly he says, ‘ _I’ll be right back, okay?’_

His heart skips a beat. Right. He’ll have to go to the kitchen for food and he’s in no state to follow him. “Okay,” he says again, even though he’s not entirely sure it is.

It’s fine. He’ll manage.

Harley presses a kiss that he can’t feel to his nano-clad knuckles and tucks his hand back against his chest before hurrying off to the kitchen. He tries to watch him go but turning his head that far is nauseating. He stares blankly at the ceiling instead, letting waves of dizziness crash over him again and again.

He jumps when Harley pops back into his line of sight without the slightest hint of sound to announce his return. He’s holding a juice box in one hand and a bag of baby carrots in the other.

He frowns at the carrots but Harley just shrugs. It was probably the quickest thing he could grab and he’d prefer to have him here at his side rather than dinking around in the kitchen trying to whip him up something good anyway.

Harley rips open the carrots and holds the bag out to him.

Brow furrowed in concentration, he reaches for it, but still misses his mark and Harley has to guide the bag into his hand and then his hand down to his side.

He digs out a baby carrot and diligently guides it to his mouth while reaching blindly for Harley with the other. Harley takes his hand and places it back against his chest before getting to work on putting the straw in the juice box. There’s a slight vibration rumbling through Harley’s chest and only then does he realize he’s talking.

He can’t _hear_ him. He can’t even hear the crunch of the carrot as he crushes it between his molars. It’s bizarre and unnerving.

God, he hopes he’s not making gross eating noises. How loud is he breathing?

Fingers graze his cheek.

_‘Drink.’_

Harley doesn’t hand him the juice box. Instead, he holds it just in front of his lips and waits with an expectant expression. His lips are moving but he’s unable to track the words. At this point, he wonders if he’s only talking for his own benefit.

He glares up at him, _not_ enjoying feeling so childish, but finds the straw with his tongue and slurps down the whole thing. Better to finish it all in one go than to have to endure the humiliation again.

Harley twists to set the empty juice box on the coffee table behind him and Peter loses purchase on his chest. His breath hitches and he must make some kind of noise because Harley comes right back and catches his searching hand and guides it back to his chest.

Heart beating, lungs expanding, vibrations.

He shoots a petulant look up at Harley who only smiles back at him, lips forming words that he can sometimes maybe make out. Words like 'h _ere’_ and _‘not’_ and _‘anywhere’_ and _‘love’_ and _‘you’._

A finger taps his cheek.

_‘I love you,’_ Harley repeats, slow, clear, and distinct.

Peter wrinkles his nose. “No thanks. I don’t like olive juice.”

A laugh bubbles out of Harley’s chest and something settles in his.

He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

Looming over him, Harley nudges at his hip. It takes him a moment to figure out what he’s wanting but then it clicks and he scoots to the back of the couch, taking his carrots with him, and turns onto his side. The world spins again but settles into what’s become his usual state of unbalanced after a few moments.

Harley squishes onto the couch beside him, tucking Peter’s head against his upper chest and tangling their legs. Harley’s fingers comb through his hair and his eyes flutter closed as he presses his ear to his chest only to almost immediately turn his head and press his forehead there instead.

He does _not_ like not hearing Harley’s heart when he does that. He can feel it, sure, but having his ear right there and not hearing it makes him feel sick.

Harley plucks a carrot out of the bag and sticks it in his face, nearly up his nose.

He grunts and swats him away while another laugh shakes Harley’s frame. He takes a fresh carrot out of the bag and eats it. It takes a couple of tries to get it into his mouth, but he doesn’t need anyone to hand-feed him.

Time passes. His ears throb dully, Harley’s chest continues to vibrate, and the carrots in the bag dwindle with both of them munching on them. He’s considering trying to sleep so that hopefully he’ll wake up and be able to hear again when suddenly his ears pop painfully and everything comes flooding back at once.

_Everything._

He cries out and his voice is harsh and grating to his ears. Tires on pavement sound like they’re right beside him, Metallica screams from several floors below, the heating system rushes overhead like a roaring dragon, cars honking, sirens wailing, TVs blaring. He tucks his head against Harley’s chest and clasps his hands over his ears.

“Shit, what’s wrong? Baby, look at me.”

Harley’s voice. His hand on his cheek.

“Loud,” he whispers, tucking himself closer. _God, it’s so loud._

“Oh,” Harley says, matching Peter’s whisper. It’s still too loud but he won’t ever tell him that. “My heartbeat helps, right?”

As soon as he says it, he hears it, familiar and soothing and so close. He presses his ear to his chest and lets it wash over him. He nods to answer his question and Harley holds him closer, placing his arms around him with a precision and deliberation that warms him from the inside out.

He’s not experiencing a full sensory overload. Sight, smell, and touch aren’t overwhelming him, but Harley is still treating him with tenderness and thoughtfulness as though they are.

A handful of minutes later, his control is back and everything outside the room is dull background noise that he can easily tune out. He’s relaxed now, curled within Harley’s arms and he’d be content to sleep right here if he wasn’t still wearing his suit. His Iron Spider suit, nonetheless. It’s probably not very comfortable to snuggle up to, yet Harley hasn’t made a single complaint.

_I love him._

He stretches up and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Harley leans back to look him in the eye and smooths a stray lock from his forehead.

“Better?” he asks in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Peter whispers back. “Thanks.”

“‘Course,” he says, eyes watchful and sincere as he takes him in. He must approve of what he sees because his lips quirk into a playful smirk and he says, “You know I love doting on my little spider baby.”

Peter snorts and shoves lightly at his chest. “Don’t get used to it. Lemme up. I wanna get out of this thing.”

Harley grins at him and doesn’t move except to look him up and down. “I dunno. It’s kinda hot.”

“Not for me.” He knocks on his hip, a sharp rap causing the metal to ring. “Can’t feel anything through this.”

Harley frowns. “Yeah, alright.” He rolls to his feet and hovers as Peter gets up after him.

It’s annoying, but he doesn’t comment on it and Harley backs off as soon as he stands without any issues. That’s something he maybe doesn’t appreciate enough about him. He’s always there when he needs someone and he’ll go above and beyond to make sure he’s taken care of, but the second he’s okay on his own he steps back and doesn’t coddle him.

_I love him._

He presses close against his chest and kisses him. “You wanna umm,” he looks up at him through his eyelashes in the way he knows drives him crazy, “help me out of this?”

Harley’s heart rate speeds up and his hurries to match it.

“Yeah okay,” Harley says. He licks his lips as he looks him up and down. “Here or…?”

“Not here.” Rock music is still blaring down in Tony’s lab, but there’s no telling when he’ll decide to come up and who knows where Pepper is.

“Right.” Harley ducks down and kisses him, long and slow. When he pulls back he takes Peter’s breath with him. “Right,” he repeats. “Should we put away the carrots first?”

He laughs and then drives forward with a demanding kiss. He keeps moving forward until Harley is forced to take a step back and then another. “Forget about the carrots,” he says against the corner of his mouth.

“What’re carrots?” Harley says, breathless and heavily accented. His eyes are dark and intense and focused on his lips.

Peter surges forward to kiss him again and then almost as quickly breaks it to stoop down and curl his arms around the back of Harley’s thighs and scoop him into his arms.

“Hey!” Harley exclaims, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist as Peter effortlessly carries him out of the living room.

“You were taking too long.” And maybe a little bit he wants to get back at him for picking him up earlier.

He kisses the side of his neck, angle too awkward with the height difference to reach his lips, and kicks their bedroom door closed behind them. He sets him on the desk and doesn’t waste a second before lurching up on his tiptoes and connects their lips once more.

Harley leans into it eagerly, cupping the back of his head to hold him close.

“Thought you were taking this off,” Harley murmurs against his lips.

It’s only then that he realizes Harley’s hand is on his hip. He can’t feel it through the suit and that’s unacceptable. He double taps his chest and the nanotech retracts back into the spider emblem on his under armor, leaving it glowing a soft gold and him in his thin black underclothes.

“That’s better,” Harley breathes. Then his hands are all over him, rucking up his shirt and trailing over his stomach, his back, his hips. He slides off the desk and presses against his chest as he kisses him deeply.

His heart is thundering in his ears and he feels hot all over. He breaks the kiss, panting and Harley takes the opportunity to suck a mark on his trap muscle.

“Harley,” he gasps.

“Do we need to stop?” he asks. He doesn’t move away, but he stills as he waits for his answer.

“No,” he says. No, he’s not going to stop them this time. He needs to trust himself. He won’t hurt him. He won’t.

Harley pulls back to look him in the eyes. “You’re sure?” he asks.

His heart is racing and his eyes are dark with desire but still, he waits for Peter’s confirmation.

God, he loves him.

“I’m sure.”

He’d never hurt him.

He kisses him softly and tugs him by the belt loops towards the bed.

Harley goes willingly, matching him step for step without breaking the kiss until he has Peter’s shirt up and over his head. He tosses it aside and then sheds his flannel before grabbing the back of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head.

Before it can hit the ground, Peter is pressed against him again, running his hands over smooth taut muscle and plastering wet open-mouthed kisses across his collarbone. Harley was fit when he first arrived in New York—farm work will do that to a body—but training has been good to him and he’s bulked up in the past few months.

Harley hooks a finger in the waistband of Peter’s pants and stops. “You’re really sure?”

Peter’s response is to start undoing Harley’s belt.

“Okay,” Harley says.

Peter pops the button on his jeans and starts working them down his hips.

“Okay,” Harley says again. He tugs them down the rest of the way and steps out of them. “Okay, you’re sure.”

Peter tugs down his own pants and kicks them off, leaving both of them in their underwear. “I’m sure. Are you?”

“I… Yeah.”

He stops and looks up at him. He doesn’t _sound_ sure and he doesn’t _look_ sure either.

_“Harley—,”_ he starts. They’re _not_ going to do this if he’s not ready.

“No, I am!” Harley exclaims. “I just… there’s blood on you and it’s right where I like to kiss you. Can we just… wipe it off real quick?”

Peter touches the side of his neck and the line of blood crusted there. He’d forgotten about that.

“I’ll just grab a wet rag real quick, alright?” Harley offers, looking almost nervous.

“Be fast.”

Harley grins and moves towards the door. “Don’t put any clothes back on while I’m gone.”

“What about taking off more clothes?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

Harley bites his lip and his gaze travels down his body leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “That’d be… yeah. I’m okay with that. Is anyone out there?”

“No. Hurry up.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Harley ducks out the door, leaving him standing alone and aroused in his underwear in the middle of the room listening to his footsteps run down the hall.

Well.

So far this isn’t going how he planned but… it’s not _bad._ Knowing his luck, it could be much worse. He’ll take what he can get. He’s already made Harley wait too long—first for him to be ready and then for the perfect moment that he’s realizing is never going to happen so long as he’s Spider-Man. Maybe this isn’t the evening of romance he envisioned but it’s still okay… right?

God, what if Harley’s disappointed? They’ve been putting it off and building up to this for so long, what if it’s a huge letdown? What if Harley doesn’t _like_ it? They had to stop everything to wipe _blood_ off of him. That’s the opposite of attractive.

Footsteps thunder in the hall and then Harley bursts back, a dripping washcloth in hand.

“That was fast.”

“I aim to please.”

He tips his head to the side as Harley strokes the rag down the side of his neck.

He flinches. “That’s cold!”

“You said be fast! No time to let the water heat up. Lemme get the other side.”

“It’s on both sides?” he asks as he obediently tips his head the other way and Harley wipes down that side of his neck too.

“Could you _hear_ out of both sides, dummy? D’you want to get in your ears or wait ‘til later?”

“Ugh.” He takes the rag and wiggles it around in his ear. This isn’t the steamy romantic night he thought it’d be. Stupid sound cannon. Stupid bad guys. Stupid himself for letting them get the better of him. The rag comes away bloody. He moves his finger to a clean spot and does the other ear.

“There.” He tosses the rag across the room towards the dirty clothes hamper and doesn’t wait to see if it makes it. “Are we still… D’you still want to?”

Harley rests his hands on his hips. They’re cold and damp. “Why wouldn’t I? D’you?”

He looks down at his bare feet and Harley’s socked ones. “I… I dunno. I feel like I messed it up.”

Harley ducks his head to look him in the eyes. “Nothin’s messed up, darlin’. We can pick this up another time if that’s what you want, but I’m here and you’re here and no one else is. That’s all we need.”

He chews his bottom lip as he looks up at him through his eyelashes. “You sure you’re not disappointed? There’s been all this waiting and now—,”

“I’m sure. Pete…”

He looks up, meeting Harley’s eyes.

Harley stares into his eyes and says, “I’m sure.”

“I like it when you call me darling,” he says after a beat.

“Yeah?” Harley asks with a slow smile. “I’ll have to use that one more often then.”

Hesitantly, Peter reaches out and puts a hand on his hip as he takes a step closer, near enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. “You also… You called me baby earlier. Not Spider Baby, just baby. I umm… I liked that too.”

“Okay, baby,” Harley says, voice low and eyes dark and intense. “Can I kiss you now?”

Instead of answering, Peter leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I won’t have sex with you while you’re wearing socks.”

Harley laughs and kisses him proper. “Consider ‘em gone. I’ll burn ‘em if that makes you happy.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “Burnt sock smell isn’t really the atmosphere I was going for.”

Harley laughs again and steps forward so their chests are pressed together and presses a kiss behind his ear. “I love you.”

His breath catches. “I’m serious about the socks.”

Harley snorts and steps around him to get to the bed. “Here I am tryin’ to woo you and you’re fixated on my _socks_ of all things.” He sits on the edge of the bed and yanks off a sock, tossing it away. The second quickly follows. “Startin’ to wonder about your prioriti—,”

He cuts him short with a demanding kiss and shoves him back onto the bed, climbing over him, one knee on the bed while his other foot remains on the floor. Harley’s heart pounds as he looks up at him with wide excited eyes and Peter’s heart races to match it.

“What do you want?”

“You,” Harley says, eyes never leaving his face.

“Okay, but how?” Peter asks. He can feel the blush that starts at his chest and creeps up his neck and into his cheeks and below him Harley tracks it.

“Anything you want.”

He huffs. “You’re not being very helpful.”

“Sorry, darlin’. I ain’t picky. You can do anything you want to me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to— to—,” he cuts off with a grimace. How do people get through talking about this stuff without killing the mood with words like _penetrate?_

Harley’s fingers slide around to the small of his back as he says, “Pete, we don’t have to do it all tonight. I’m not gonna be disappointed by anything we do or don’t do. Promise.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath. “You like it when I take charge though.”

He hears Harley’s heart stutter and his voice is strained when he says, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He can work with that. “Get on the bed.”

~*~

Encircled in his arms, Harley snores against his chest but he can’t sleep. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. He’s happier and more at peace than he thought was possible. Things are good. Things are _really_ good.

He tightens his arms around Harley and presses his lips against his shoulder as he breathes in his scent. He could lay here forever so long as Harley’s with him.

~ **Harley** ~

“What the hell?” he blows up the holoscreen until what he’s seeing is so large it can’t be misread. Even then, he says, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell me that doesn’t say _‘Peter Parker’_ in the photo credit line.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What. The. Fuck.” He stares, uncomprehending. “Where is he?”

He finds him at the kitchen table with Bumpurr napping on his textbook while he scrolls on his phone.

“What is this?”

Peter leans back to properly see the screen he shoves in his face. His expression flickers through a myriad of micro-expressions before settling into a bashful smile.

“Oh I, uh, didn’t realize you read The Bugle.”

“Of course I read th— I have so many email accounts for the sole purpose of—,” He digs a knuckle into his forehead and takes a calming breath before saying, “Explain.”

Peter shrugs, tapping anxiously on the tabletop. “I got the idea from Barb. She still texts me sometimes about how much business she gets now with the photos of the orchard and the website and everything. Then in Peter B.’s universe, I saw he used to work for The Bugle and it just… it made sense, you know? Everyone knows The Bugle is always desperate for Spidey pics so I just...” He shrugs. “I figured, why shouldn’t Peter Parker benefit from Spider-Man’s misfortune? Also,” a mischievous glint lights his eyes as he grins, “I thought it’d be funny.”

He stares as a feeling wells up inside him, making him feel overfull and light as air.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” he says, “I have never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

Peter laughs, his cheeks tinting pink. “Yeah?”

_“Hell_ yeah. Do you know how many nasty-grams I’ve sent that douche? I have so many alter egos it makes my head spin, but you... You’re beautiful. I’m gonna kiss your face off now.”

Peter laughs again as Harley swoops in and wraps him in his arms, but Peter leans away and holds him back with a hand to his chest as he says, “You’re not going to tell Mr. Stark, right?”

He scoffs. “Are you kidding? If he finds out he’s going to throw the biggest fit ever. Worse than when he found out we weren’t going to MIT. We’d never hear the end of it. Also, don’t bring him up when I’m trying to ravish you.”

Peter giggles. “My mistake. Carry on.”

Then he kisses him.

~*~

He hovers over Peter’s shoulder where he’s pressed against the door and strains his ears in vain. He can’t hear a damn thing.

Without warning, Peter jerks back, knocking into him but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are wide with excitement.

“Okay, okay. They’re coming back,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Act surprised!”

“No problem,” he grumbles. “Since you’re the only one here with super hearing.”

The door flies open and before he even crosses the threshold, Mr. Stark crows, “It’s a girl!”

Peter covers his mouth with both hands and gasps dramatically.

~*~

_“Where is my coffee?_ I turn my back for _two seconds_ and it vanishes. Where are you vagrants?”

“You’re on your own,” Peter whispers and then scurries up the wall and onto the ceiling, heading for the far end of the hall.

“Traitor!” he hisses after him.

Without a backward glance, Peter slips into the stairwell, easing the door closed behind him with his toes.

Whatever. At least he’s got the coffee. He leans his shoulder into the wall next to the elevator and takes a loud slurp just as Tony stalks around the corner.

“What—,” Tony’s eyes narrow, “—do you think you’re doing?”

“Heading to the lab,” he says. He takes another slurp then asks, “What’s up?”

Tony’s eye twitches. “You took my coffee.”

“You left it where I could reach it.”

Tony puts his face in both hands and lets out a small scream. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

A month ago, Tony started taking the things they left ‘where a child could reach them’ and put them in the ‘Time Out Box’ in his lab in the hopes of training them not to leave things out. Pepper’s not even due for another _three months._ Retaliation was unavoidable and has been so _so_ satisfying. He’s only been tormenting him for two days but he’s looking forward to keeping it up for the rest of his life.

He takes another loud slurp as the elevator dings, finally announcing its arrival. “Nope.”

~*~

“We host a summer gala every year.”

“Yeah okay, but why do _I_ need to be there? Peter’s not going.”

Pepper shoots him an exasperated look. She’s gotten more short-tempered the closer they get to her due date. She looks ready to pop but keeps insisting she’s far enough off that she doesn’t need to cut back on her activities. He’s starting to think she’s going to keep working right through labor, Stark Pad in hand as she orders around her underlings and the doctor reminds her to push.

“Peter has a prior commitment,” she says.

Training with the Spider Crew and Daredevil seems like a thin alibi to him but he’s not going to argue with her, even though Peter, Gwen, and Miles are all totally abandoning him to go to this thing on his own since Ned and MJ aren’t due back for the summer for another week still.

“So I’m supposed to hang out with you and Tony the whole time?”

“You could invite a friend. What about the girl you go to school with? I’m sure she’d appreciate the chance for some networking. Isn’t she graduating this month?”

Ugh. _Networking._ The word gives him the heebie-jeebies.

“I can ask her, I guess.”

Trinity has been his saving grace as finals approach. She got him and Peter through winter finals by the skin of their teeth with all the world-saving business they had distracting them. Spring semester has been a cakewalk in comparison. Although Peter seems to always get called away at the most inopportune times by his Spider-Man duties so a lot of the time it’s just him and Trinity.

They always hang out away from the tower though. He’s not sure if she’ll appreciate being shoved into the Stark Industries part of his life.

“It’s important that you get used to these kinds of things,” Pepper says.

“Is it?”

“Trust me,” she says, ruffling his hair as she moves past him out of the room. “There might be more of these in your future than you think.”

He narrows his eyes at her back as she walks away. Her and Tony have been dropping hints at him for _months_ now and he can’t ignore them anymore. Are they implying what he thinks they’re implying?

Keep Every _Legacy_ Safe In Emergency.

Iron _Legacy._

He needs to know.

~*~

In the end, looking up Tony’s will isn’t difficult. He expected it to be squirreled away somewhere in a secret folder within a secret folder within a secret server, but here it is. Easy access. Titled to be upfront and clear.

_‘Official Last Will and Testament - Anthony Edward Stark.’_

He expected he would find his name listed in the beneficiaries under Pepper. He expected to find Peter alongside him.

He did _not_ expect to find that should Tony and Pepper go simultaneously, _he_ is to be given the highest percentage of shares in Stark Industries.

He sits down hard, brain reeling.

He assumed if anything was being left to him and Peter that it’d be even across the board, or that Peter would be the one with controlling interest while Harley would be there to support him. It’s not a secret to anyone who’s seen them in the same room that Tony and Peter have something of a father-son relationship.

Tony and him aren’t like that. Tony doesn’t parent him like he does Peter and he doesn’t hold him in that paternal regard. They’re more mentor and mentee. Or a cool uncle or something.

So why would he give S.I. to _him_ instead of Peter? It doesn’t make any sense.

He sits in the lab and stares at the holoscreen for several minutes before his feet pick him up and carry him to Tony’s lab.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. must have warned him because Tony’s waiting for him when he arrives.

He opens and closes his mouth several times while Tony smirks at him, reclined back in one of his new child-safe chairs with the wide-spread feet and no wheels.

“Well?” Tony eventually breaks the silence. “Out with it. Is this an excited fish out of water impression or an angry one or…?”

He finds his voice but it comes out strangled. “Tony, I’m just some punk kid from Tennessee. You can’t—,”

“You are, but that’s not all you are.” Tony stands and puts his hands on his shoulders. He feels small beside him even though he surpassed him in height years ago. “It’s time you started owning your strengths and building them up. You’re gonna change the world, kid. I can’t wait to see what you do now that you’re grown up.”

“No pressure,” he mumbles.

Tony laughs and pulls him into a quick one-armed hug. “Kid, you’re already doing it. Do yourself a favor and sign up for some business classes, yeah? Some public speaking courses too.”

“I’m gonna puke.”

“Not in my lab.” Despite his words, Tony steers him to the futon and together they sit. “What’s the big deal?”

A ghost of a laugh wheezes from between his lips. “What’s the— The whole— _All of it!_ Why would you… Why not Peter? I don’t—,”

He shakes his head. None of this makes sense.

“I love Peter,” Tony says, “but the kid’s a mess and I think he’s got enough on his plate, don’t you? I can tell you first-hand how impossible it is to run a company and be a superhero at the same time and he’s way more entrenched in the day-to-day heroics than I ever was. I couldn’t pull it off and I would never ask him to because he’d take it on as some kind of sacred obligation to my immortal soul and kill himself trying to do both.”

Something settles in Harley’s gut and it takes him a moment to recognize it as disappointment. So he’s the second choice then. _Always_ the second choice.

“Besides all that,” Tony continues, “I don’t think he’d be a good fit. You on the other hand…” He turns and looks at him and his lips quirk into a smile. “You’ve got all the right stuff.”

“I— What?”

He starts ticking things off on his fingers. “You’re smart and organized and like to plan and prepare. You’ll take it seriously but you won’t let it take over your life. You’ll have intimate knowledge of the science half and you’re well-suited to the business stuff too.” He shrugs. “It was a no-brainer really. Pep wanted you to start shadowing her back in August after we decided. I convinced her to hold off but get ready because she’s been chomping at the bit to get her hands on you especially with the baby coming soon.”

Tony trails off with a chuckle and all he can do is stare.

_What?_

He—

August—

They—

_What?!_

Tony’s easy smile falters and doubt creeps into his expression. “Unless you don’t want it,” he says. “No one’s forcing you into anything. God knows I plan on sticking around for a long time still and I’m not convinced Pep’s not immortal so this won’t even be relevant until we retire in a decade or two but… If you want it, it’s yours.”

“I…”

“Don’t answer yet. Think about it.” He gets to his feet but pauses in front of him. “And Harley?” He waits until he looks up and meets his gaze before continuing. “I meant every word. I know S.I. has always been your end game and I think you’ll take it to incredible places, but… if It’s not what you want. If it’s too big. If you just want to be a nameless grunt in R&D, I’ll still support you 100%. Okay?”

He pulls in a breath. “Okay.”

Tony points a stern finger at him. “Think about it. I’d say no rush but I’m no miracle worker. I can’t hold Pep off forever.”

“I… Alright, yeah. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

~ **Miles** ~

_Finally._

He’s _free._

The summer is his. No more Mr. Dutcher breathing down his neck and dogging his every misstep. No more finals. And most of all, no more incessant texts from Tony Star—

“Miles!”

He slips on the polished tile of the Med Bay’s waiting room as he spins away from the elevator. Harley is sticking halfway out of the door leading back to the exam room, his hair plastered to his scalp with sweat—still fresh from their fight.

“Pepper wants to know how come you’re not back here meeting her baby girl.”

He blinks. “I… I figured it was a family thing.”

Morgan was born not even an hour ago while him, Harley, and Peter were stomping rats in Times Square. Gwen declined to show—instead, tapping Harley to take her place. She’s still bitter about last time she faced-down Vermin in their battle against Fisk. Something about having more nightmares about skittering feet and glowing eyes than being locked in a cage for months on end.

“Yeah,” Harley says dryly. “So get in here, man.”

“Oh. Uh, alright.”

Harley holds the door for him and together they make their way back to the birthing suite Mr. Stark had construction just for today. Seems grandiose and wasteful but that’s billionaires.

Harley pushes into the room without knocking so he trails in after him.

“There you are,” Pepper says, smiling from the bed. Her hair is neatly braided away from her face and tucked in a coil at the base of her neck. She’s pale but poised as ever despite the crow’s feet framing her eyes and the lines of exhaustion creasing her forehead.

“Sorry, I—,”

She waves off his apology. “You’ll have to duke it out with Peter and Tony if you want a chance to hold her.”

Peter and Tony are hunched together cooing but at Pepper’s pointed statement, Peter turns to face him, maskless but otherwise still in his Spider-Man suit with barely restrained tears in his eyes and a while bundle cradled against his chest.

“She’s so precious, Miles,” he chokes out. “Just… Oh my God. Her little fingers and— You have to look at them. They’re so— Just look.”

“I _know,”_ Mr. Stark gushes. He hasn’t taken his eyes or his hand off the bundle. “She’s perfect. So perfect.”

He glances sideways at Harley who is gazing up at the ceiling and seems to be holding his breath to keep from laughing, then Pepper, who is smiling at the pair of them with all the love in the world in her expression.

He approaches and peeks into the bundle and… well… She’s a baby. Kinda wrinkled with reddish skin, but he’s pretty sure she’ll grow out of that.

“She’s umm… an angel,” he says haltingly.

Harley chokes.

“Isn’t she?” Mr. Stark coos.

“She is!” Peter cries.

He backs away slowly as they continue to fall all over each other to murmur sweet nothings to baby Morgan. He shoots a wide-eyed look at Pepper who just shakes her head and rolls her eyes fondly.

“I don’t think you’re going to get your baby back.”

Harley sidles up beside him, shaking his head. “They’re obsessed.”

“Don’t worry,” Pepper says. “The charm will wear off around the first time she fills her diaper. No baby is sugar sweet all the time.”

Harley shakes his head. “I’ve never understood baby-mania. They don’t _do_ anything. Toddlers is when things get fun.”

“I don’t really get any of it,” Miles confesses.

“That’s cuz you’re an only child,” Harley says. “Abbie’s a pain in the ass now but she was fun when she was littler.”

“Don’t worry,” Pepper tells him. “It looks like I’ll have plenty of volunteers for babysitting so I won’t have to call on you.”

“That’s a relief,” he says. “I don’t know anything about babies.”

“Do you want to hold her? I can beat Peter and Tony into submission.”

“Uh, that’s okay. I shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t break the school’s plastic utensils hardly ever nowadays, but he’d rather not take his chances. What if he hurts her? It’s best if he keeps his distance. He’s never been big on babies anyway.

~*~

He leaves the tower with the familiar weight of exhaustion in his bones but a new lightness to his step. It’s the start of summer vacation and his only plans are to team up with Gwen for patrol this weekend and to beat that video game that Ganke’s been pestering him about so he can talk to someone about the storyline. Things are looking up.

Almost as though to contradict the thought, his phone rings.

He bites back a groan as he swipes his card and steps through the turnstile into the subway, digging his phone out of his pocket. It’s Uncle Aaron. He groans for real this time. He already knows what he’s calling about.

“Hey, Uncle Aaron.”

“Miles,” Uncle Aaron greets, “so you _do_ remember how to answer your phone.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was busy.”

“Busy swinging? Or a different busy?”

“Different busy.” He glances around at the gobs of people crammed wall-to-wall and says with discretion, “The baby came and they wanted me to meet her. Figured I might as well before Tony got impatient and showed up with her at my door.”

It’s funny how quickly having a superhero constantly texting and calling him for advice wears off. Especially when he likes to push his calls through, regardless of whether he’s in class or trying to take a dump in peace.

Uncle Aaron snorts. “He’s a proud daddy, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” The past couple months have been a trial for all of them as Mr. Stark became increasingly paranoid, far outstripping Pepper’s anxiety even though she’s the one who had to do the actual delivering.

“Miles, wait up!”

He cranes over his shoulder to find Peter hopping the turnstile.

“Hey, Uncle Aaron I’ll call you back.”

“Hold on, little man. You’re gonna tell him today right?”

There it is.

“I… I mean, don’t you think—,”

“You can’t keep putting it off, Miles. He deserves to hear it from you. They both do.”

Peter catches up to him, grinning breathlessly.

“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Miles—,”

He hangs up.

“Uh, hey Pete. What’s up?”

“Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier. I just wanted to check in. How are things? I know I’ve been busy and we haven’t had time to hang out but now that we’re both out of school it should be easier.”

“Yeah, totally. I’m good. Nothing new really except…” He hesitates, but Peter is looking at him with his usual brand of open earnestness that makes it nearly impossible to resist opening up. “Uncle Aaron wants me to tell my parents about… everything. What I can do. That stuff.”

“Oh.” Peter bites his lip. “Do you… d’you think that’s a good idea?”

“Do _you?”_

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re the one that knows them best. Are they going to freak out?”

“Maybe,” he says, frowning down at his shoes. “I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s not the same, but when May found out she totally flipped and things got really complicated and she kind of hated Mr. Stark for a while.”

He frowns. He doesn’t want his parents to hate Peter. It’s not his fault he got bit by that spider. It’s not his fault he pushed so hard to become Spider-Man.

“But that was just at the start,” Peter continues. “After things settled down and she got used to it… Well, I can’t imagine keeping her in the dark anymore. She’s… She’s helped me through a lot—like the… the emotional things. And before I moved into the tower we were kind of a team. Yeah, it was annoying when she set a curfew and she’d nag at me about eating right and being more careful and finishing my homework before going on patrol but… she had my back. She _has_ my back. I can’t— If I was still hiding such a massive part of my life from her, I don’t see how we would be as close as we are.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You think I should tell them.”

“I think you should do what you think is best.”

“And you think that I think that telling them is best,” he counters.

Peter smiles. “I think you’re smart and you’ve got a good heart and you’ll do the right thing, no matter how hard or uncomfortable it is.”

He sighs. “Alright. Do you think… I think they’re going to want to meet you.”

He lights up. “We should do a dinner! You and your parents could come over to May’s and that way they can talk to both me and May and—,” He cuts off suddenly, stricken. “Actually, maybe you should see if they can host. Inflicting May’s cooking on them wouldn’t be a good first impression.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah, okay.” He and Gwen have both learned to eat in advance of any team dinners unless something’s being ordered in or Harley’s making it. “You sure you want to meet my parents? What if they’re pissed at you.”

Peter shrugs. “That… I mean, that would suck but it’s not really about me, you know? I want you to have a good relationship with your parents, Miles. If that means offering myself up as the sacrificial lamb then…” He shrugs again. “Are you going to tell them today?”

“Maybe. It’s gotta be soon though now that I’m out of the dorm.”

“Let me know how it goes. Then we can plan the dinner and hey, I promise I’ll be there, okay? We’ll get Harley and Gwen to keep an eye on things. Nothing could make me miss it.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“It’s one I’ll keep. No matter what.”

“Okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I trust you.”

“You gonna be out tonight?”

“Yeah. Me and Gwen are meeting up at the usual spot around eight.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure you’ll be able to pull yourself away from baby Morgan?”

Peter goes soft, his lips pushing together in a pout. “I’ll do my best. No promises.”

He laughs.

~*~

“Mijo, your father and I have something to tell you.”

He stills, halfway through the front door, heart rabbiting in his chest. Did Uncle Aaron call them? Did he rat him out? _¡Coño!_ They’re going to be so upset if they had to hear it from him. Things are still shaky between his dad and Uncle Aaron. Only their near-death was able to mend the bridge enough for them to start talking to each other again.

Oh man. This is bad.

He shuts the door and grips the straps to his backpack as he slowly makes his way towards the kitchen. “Uhh, is everything okay?” he calls out. “Is it your leg again?” It’s gotten a lot better since the accident but it seems like every time he thinks she’s back to normal she ends up back at the doctor’s with another infection.

He jerks to a stop in the doorway. The table is set and the air is thick with spices as a pot bubbles on the stove. His dad takes off his reading glasses and closes his work laptop as his mom smiles behind him with one hand on his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“My leg is fine, baby. I um…” His mom smiles wide enough that her eyes water. “You’re going to have a baby brother or sister. We just confirmed the test today.”

She rests a hand over her stomach as his dad warps his arm proudly around her waist, lit up with joy.

He strains his ears and, sure enough, under the hiss of the burner and the simmering of the beans and the Moroccan music playing softly next door, he hears the gentle thu-thump of a tiny heart almost imperceptible under the excited pitter-patter of his mom’s.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Miles,” his dad scolds, “that’s no way to talk to your mother.”

His mom’s smile dims. “You’re not happy. The counselor warned us this might happen but after everything that happened this year we thought… We thought it was good news.”

How is this happening to him.

“It is!” he exclaims. “I’m just— Wow. I umm, yay?”

How is this happening to him.

His dad shoots him a sharp look. The one that says, _‘Son, you better straighten up or we’re going to have words later’._

How is this happening to him.

“I… It’s great!” he fibs. “I just… I also had something I wanted to tell you guys and it’s not bad! But… you’re not going to like it.”

His mom frowns, soft with concern. “What is it, baby? You know you can tell us anything.”

“Is this about what’s got you so distracted from school?” his dad asks.

He winces. “Uh, yeah?”

“Sit down,” his mom says, pulling out a chair for herself and settling into it. “Talk to us, mijo.”

He hesitantly sets aside his backpack and sits across from them. “I umm… This is really hard. I don’t know—,”

“Is it a girl?” his dad asks.

“What? No!”

“Is it a boy?” his mom asks slyly.

_“No,”_ he repeats. “It’s… I’m… So… Ugh, I don’t know how to start.”

His mom leans forward and cups his hand between both of hers. “Tell us. We love you no matter what.”

He takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut, and blurts, “I’m Spider-Man.”

Dead silence.

He squints open one eye and finds his parents staring at him looking more baffled than alarmed or angry.

“I’m gonna need you to explain that one a little more for me, son,” his dad finally says. “Spider-Man’s been on the scene for years now.”

“Not… Not that one.” He unzips his bag and reaches into it. “This one.” He slaps his suit onto the table and the bold red spider on the chest stares up at them.

Shock lances across their faces. Realization creeps into his mom’s expression first. Then fear. She sits back in her chair. His dad stays blank. Uncomprehending.

“This isn’t funny, Miles,” his mom says, an edge of desperation in her tone. “Don’t—,”

“I’m not joking,” he tells her. “I can _do_ things. There was a spider and it bit me and now I… I can _help_ people. I can make a difference. Just like Spidey.”

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes fill with tears.

His heart clenches. He never wanted this. He never wanted to make his mom afraid for him.

“What do you mean you can do things?” his dad finally asks, slowly and deliberately.

“I could… I could show you?” he offers, unable to keep the hopeful lilt out of his tone. If he can prove that he’s capable then maybe they won’t be so scared.

His dad hesitates, but he’s already hopping out of his chair and kicking off his shoes. “Check this out!”

“Miles—,”

He leaps straight up, flipping in midair until his feet hit the ceiling and stick. He crouches and grins upside-down at his parents’ stunned face. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Miles…” His dad trails off.

“Please come down,” his mom whispers breathlessly.

“There’s more,” he says, detaching and flipping, landing lightly on his feet.

His mom closes her eyes and swallows thickly and his dad puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve got super strength and I’m really fast now and my reflexes are incredible. I can see and hear and smell really well and I’ve got this danger sense that tells me right before something bad happens and—,”

“Mijo, please,” his mom says weakly. “Slow down. Slow… Are you… You’re out there fighting thugs and criminals?” she asks, voice shrill.

“It’s not as bad as you think!” he says quickly. “I’m safe. Well, there’s some danger but— you heard the part about my danger sense, right? And Spider-Man’s been training me and I’ve got this awesome suit and web-shooters and—,”

“Stop,” his dad says. “Back up. Spider-Man—the _real Spider-Man—_ has been training you?”

He tries not to let the correction hurt but it stings anyway.

“Does he know who you are? Does he know how _old_ you are?”

“I… yeah,” he admits. “He— At first it wasn’t like this though. He was just helping me learn how to control my powers. I was sticking to everything and I was scared I was going to hurt someone and I couldn’t— There’s so much noise and light smell and it was killing me, but he taught me how to filter—,”

“So he groomed you to be his sidekick despite knowing you’re only—,”

“NO! He’s not like that! It wasn’t like that! He only wanted to help me. _I’m_ the one that wanted to be a vigilante. _I’m_ the one that pushed him to train me faster so I could go out and help people. If you want to be pissed at someone then you’ll have to be pissed at me because he did the best he could to slow me down and it wasn’t enough.”

He stares at them, defiant, shoulders back, chin tipped up although he can’t stop the slight wobble. He hates this. He hates fighting with them. He hates that he can’t take back everything he’s said and go back to how things were. There was a wall between them before but now it feels like a canyon.

“I want to meet him,” his dad says after a long silence. “We’re going to have a man-to-man discussion about why he felt it was okay to engage with a minor without his parents having any clue.”

“We thought we could do dinner with him and his aunt. I told him I was going to tell you guys soon. The dinner was his idea.”

“His… aunt?” his mom echoes.

“Yeah, she raised him. He thought you guys might like to talk to someone who umm… Who knows what it’s like to have your kid do the stuff we do.”

His parents stare at him, uncomprehending.

“Miles,” his mom says slowly, “how _old_ is Spider-Man?”

“Umm…” Peter never said explicitly that he was going to reveal his identity to his parents but… a dinner? That has to be his plan, right? “Eighteen?”

His parents trade wide-eyed expressions and then his dad slumps and puts his face in his hands.

“Ay dios Mío,” his mom murmurs.

“So you’re saying…” His dad lifts his head. “You’re saying Spider-Man’s been doing this since he was your age?”

“Yeah, about my age, yeah.”

He closes his eyes and digs his knuckle into his forehead. “And his aunt… she knew?”

“Not right away but she found out.”

“And she was… she was _okay_ with it?”

“Not at first, but she got there and… he said something about making him do homework before patrolling and stuff. She’s really nice. Terrible cook, but nice.”

_“Patrolling,”_ his dad echoes.

His parents look at each other, a silent conversation flowing between them that he’s not privy to.

“Okay,” his dad says. “We’ll meet them for dinner. I wish you would have told me, Miles. I could have helped you.”

“You don’t know what it was like, dad! I was so scared I was going to hurt someone. I needed someone who underst—,”

“Understands?” His dad stands and grabs the thick wooden cutting board off the counter and holds it up to his mom with an unspoken question in his eyes. She waves a hand and with her permission, he snaps the cutting board in half like a twig. “I understand more than you might expect.”

He stares from the jagged edges of the broken board to his dad to his mom and then back to his dad. Did he just… Does this mean…

“Holy shi—,”

~ **Peter** ~

He slumps into the lab, wrung out and still coming down from the anxious high he’s been riding for the past three hours, to find Harley wearing a rut in the floor.

“How’d it go?” Harley asks without slowing his pacing.

“Uh, okay… I think. Miles’s dad is _scary_ when he wants to be but otherwise, they were really nice. They were still talking with May when me and Miles left. I think they’re going to start a support group or something,” he says with an uneasy laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I gotta tell you somethin’.”

“Oh God, are you pregnant too?!”

“Shut _up._ God, you’re so stupid.”

“Who’s stupider? The stupid one or the one dating the stupid one?”

“Obviously the stupid one,” Harley tells him with a critical look. “It’s right there in the title.”

“Touché.” He hops onto a countertop and kicks his heels. “What is it then?”

Harley takes a deep breath. “Tony wants me to take over S.I. when him and Pepper retire. Pepper’s in on it too. She wants to start training me. They… I checked his will and they’ve got it split between the two of us but I’d have the controlling interest and I… I don’t know how I feel about—,” He stops pacing to glare at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Try as he might, he can’t tamp down his grin. “I’m just excited to see what you’re gonna do.”

Harley resumes pacing. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I haven’t even agreed yet. I might say no on principle if he keeps nagging me for an answer. Besides, what are you expecting? The world’s largest potato cannon?”

He laughs. “Nah, like world peace though for sure.”

Harley shoots him a withering look. “Don’t even joke. This is so much pressure and I’m…” His eyebrows pucker and he says to his feet, “I’m just some nobody from some dusty little hick town. I don’t know the first thing about running a multi-billion dollar company.”

“That’s bullshit. You made a communication system that can cross _dimensions,”_ he reminds him. “You designed and built a satellite that surpasses everything NASA’s built practically on a whim.”

“Those are different,” Harley argues. “The first one was an accident and the second one… You were missing. What else was I gonna do? Sit around and pine?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He hops down and crosses the floor to stand under Harley’s frown and the anxious furrow between his eyebrows. He takes his clammy hand and laces their fingers. “You didn’t stop to think about what should be possible or how hard it would be or what other people have already done. You saw a need and you filled it.

“And besides, Pepper’s gonna train you and even if you suck at it you can just coast on the billions already coming in the door and retire in your 30’s.”

“Fuck that,” Harley says with feeling, freeing his hand so he can resume pacing, lip curled in disgust. “I’m not gonna be a _billionaire._ Do you know how much I could do with Tony’s money? Do you know how high we could make the minimum wage for S.I. employees before we even get _close_ to losing money?”

“No. You gonna math it out?”

Harley narrows his eyes at him, reluctant to be manipulated, but he can see the itch tugging at him. The curiosity. His inner math nerd joining hands with his nurturing disposition and begging for satisfaction.

He bites back a smile and asks, “What are you thinking? Like a minimum salary of 40k?”

“I bet it could be at least 70k,” Harley blurts. He shoots a dirty look at him and then says, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you pull some numbers for me?”

He unleashes his grin as F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds, “Of course. What do you need?”

“I hate you,” Harley tells him and then rattles a list off the top of his head.

In no time, he has three different holoscreens floating around him as he and F.R.I.D.A.Y. delve into lists and numbers: employees, earnings brackets, salaries, S.I.’s overhead, blah blah blah. Now that he’s gotten started, he’s fully absorbed.

He watches him go with what he’s sure is a dopey smile. He doesn’t remember what he’d been planning on doing before Harley dropped his news but he’s fine with that. He can’t think of anything he’d rather do than watch Harley rampage through S.I.’s expenses and plan out how to drastically improve lives.

I love him.

He approaches him and his holoscreens, already covered in spreadsheets and calculations, and softly strokes his hair from his face. Harley grumbles something unintelligible but leans into his touch without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Not all heroes need a high-tech suit or superpowers to save the world,” he says. Then he kisses his temple and leaves him to his work.

~*~

“Did you mail it?”

“Nah, I was already swinging through the neighborhood so I just dropped it off.”

They finally finished their firefighter certifications. It took longer than they’d thought because they had to get Gwen and Miles caught up in order to finish as a team, but now it’s finally done. He printed off a certificate with “Team Spider” as the certificate holder and delivered it to the firefighter company that was at the apartment complex that he blew up last summer.

“Did anyone see you?”

He shrugs, yanking off his mask and accepting the giant bowl of mac ‘n cheese Harley puts in his hand. There are little broccoli florets in it, a vast improvement from the peas he slipped into his fettuccine alfredo last time.

“I tried to shove it in the mailbox and go but uh, the chief caught me. She um, she was impressed I guess. Didn’t seem like she was too pleased that I still plan on going into burning buildings ‘n stuff but she didn’t lecture me so that was nice.”

Harley snorts. “Spider-Man’s streak of never catching a break continues.”

“Hey, she didn’t cuss me out. I call that a win.”

“Your standards are so low.”

“Whatever,” he says through a mouthful of pasta. “When’re we supposed to be babysitting again?”

“15 minutes ago,” Harley says flatly, “so hurry up. I already begged a 30-minute extension. They’ve got a room set up for us on the Avengers floor so they won’t be tempted to check on her every two seconds.” He pauses. “Well… less tempted probably.”

“I still don’t get what the big deal is,” he says. “She’s a _baby._ All she does is sleep, eat, and poop. How hard can it be?”

“Right? We’re basically geniuses. We can figure it out.”

“Exactly.”

~*~

“I’ve tried everything!”

“Is her diaper wet?”

“That was the first thing I checked!”

“Begging? Have you tried begging?”

_“You_ beg,” Harley snaps, offering the crying baby.

Peter takes her, awkward and unsure as he folds her into his arms. “Umm sweet darling baby Morgan?” he says over her wailing cries. “Please stop crying. We did all the things and we love you very much. Please please please stop crying.”

It doesn’t work.

“You gotta bounce and rock,” Harley says.

“Like this?” Peter gives it his best go but judging by the pinched look on Harley’s face he’s missing the mark.

“Stop tipping her back like that. Just… give her back. Let me try.”

“You’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes! Give me a chance!”

“Alright, alright!” Harley backs off but that pinched look remains.

He tries everything he can think of. He rocks her in the rocking chair, he paces the length of the room, he hums, he bounces, he coos. Nothing works. In fact, she seems to be getting worse.

“She’s gonna puke if she keeps this up,” Harley says.

“Is that a thing? Babies can cry so hard they vomit? Maybe you should try again.”

“Typical.” But he takes her without complaint. He bounces her and rocks as he paces the room, cooing to her softly. Her cries don’t falter, her tiny face screwed up and flushed red as fat tears soak her cheeks.

It breaks his heart.

“Maybe we should take her upstairs,” he suggests finally. The thing they’ve been trying to avoid admitting aloud. They’re supposed to be giving Mr. Stark and Pepper a night off. Their first since Morgan was born over a month ago. They’ve only had her for a couple of hours but if they can’t get her to calm down he doesn’t see how they’ll have any other choice. “Maybe she misses them.”

“Lemme try one more thing,” Harley says. “Baby Morgan,” he says in a lilting voice.

Harley begins to sing. Low at first, soft and unsure, barely loud enough to be heard over her cries. He won’t look up at Peter but his voice is beautiful. Maybe he’s biased because he’s totally gone on him. Or maybe it’s because he’s been listening to a baby screech for almost half an hour so by default anything else sounds heavenly. Or maybe he’s just that good.

Whatever it is, he’s enraptured, watching Harley croon some country song down to baby Morgan in his arms, letting his accent bleed out thick as his voice carries in a clear baritone.

> _I don’t know how you do what you do_
> 
> _I'm so in love with you_
> 
> _It just keeps getting better_
> 
> _I wanna spend the rest of my life_
> 
> _With you by my side_
> 
> _Forever and ever_
> 
> _Every little thing that you do_
> 
> _Baby, I’m amazed by you_

Miraculously, Morgan quiets. Finally. _Finally._

Harley’s eyes flick up to meet his, wide with wonder.

Peter stares back through the silence, his heart swollen. He’s almost dizzy with how much he loves him right now in this moment. If he wasn't head over heels before he certainly is now.

He did it. They did—

An odor meets his nose—pungent enough to sting his sinuses and trigger his gag reflex.

He claps both hands over his nose and mouth. “I think she—,” He gags and takes a moment to master himself lest _he_ be the one to barf. “Oh God. That smells so bad.”

“Did she poop?” Harley asks. To Morgan he says, “Is that why you were so upset Morgie porgie?”

He turns away, gagging again, stumbling as far away from them as he can get. “Yes, she fucki—,” Another gag cuts him off and his stomach churns threateningly.

“Don’t you _dare_ throw up, Parker. I’m not changing a poopy diaper _and_ cleaning up after you. Just go. Get out.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts from the room.

~*~

The next morning, bleary-eyed but victorious, they trudge into the kitchen to find Mr. Stark and Pepper already awake and peacefully nursing coffee in their PJs at the table.

“We fucking lived,” Harley declares as they enter the room.

“I hope you haven’t been using that kind of language around my daughter all night,” Pepper says, only partly joking.

Harley looks at Peter who stares back with wide eyes, vividly remembering their, uh, _colorful_ reaction when they woke up at three in the morning to Morgan screeching again and the bed soaked in urine. They ended up needing to give her a bath and clean the crib and by the end of it, they were too exhausted to find somewhere dry for her to sleep so they left the balled up dirty sheets outside the door and slept in a puppy pile of blankets and pillows on the floor with Morgan carefully swaddled and ringed in pillows to keep her from rolling away.

They’re silent for too long.

Pepper’s half-smile fades. “Give me back my baby.”

**The Iron Interns**

**Episode 203: Shh Peter Doesn’t Know I Posted This**

The videos opens in the usual place, a lab that has grown steadily less clean and orderly over the years. Once pristine tabletops are now dented and scuffed and the countertops in the background are littered with odds and ends. The walls that were previously bare are now covered in posters and stickers and poorly doodled stick-figure cartoons in permanent marker alongside surprisingly good line art drawings.

Peter smiles tiredly at the camera, hair messy with bags under his eyes while beside him Harley is reclined with his boots on the table and his eyes at half-mast.

“Hey everyone,” Peter greets. “Get your feet down.” He swats at Harley’s calves until, with a roll of his eyes, he does as he’s told. “This one is going to be pretty unstructured. Sorry in advance. Finals are kicking our butts.”

“Your butt maybe,” Harley grumbles.

Peter quirks an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, who was up until three this morning whining about his thesis?”

“ _You,_ dumb[BLEEP]. You know they’re due in two days, right? I finished mine weeks ago.”

“Already with the swears? D’you know how much time it takes to comb through each video and edit those out?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Harley says on a sigh.

Peter frowns at him. “Alright, you win. Let’s record a different time. Neither of us are in the right headspace for—,”

“What? No, we’re already here and everything is set up. Let’s just get it over with. One less thing on our to-do list.”

“I don’t want that to be the attitude we do these with! Our viewers deserve—,”

“Nothing!” Harley says. “They deserve nothing! These videos are a _gift._ We don’t _owe_ them anything. You’re running yourself into the ground and for what? Let something slide.”

“I can handle it,” Peter insists, his jaw set stubbornly. “I’m _fine,_ Harley.”

Harley sighs, lips pressed together in a frustrated frown. “Alright,” he says after a beat. “You wanna take it from the top?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sagging in his seat and looking more tired than before. “Yeah, I’ll cut all of that in editing. You good?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“You wanna sit up and participate?” Peter asks, with a half-hearted smile like he’s trying to be playful but can’t quite summon the energy.

Harley rolls his eyes and sighs but dutifully straightens up and scoots his chair closer to the table. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Hey,” Harley says, reaching out a hand and presumably holding Peter’s under the table. “You wanna take a break after this? Maybe watch a movie? Groceries arrived this morning so we should be restocked on ice cream.”

Peter softens. “Yeah. That sounds nice.” Quietly he adds, “Thanks.”

Harley doesn’t say anything as he lifts Peter’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Peter smiles and ducks his head, clearing his throat.

“Okay,” he raps twice on the tabletop and then smiles at the camera. It looks more natural this time.

“Hey everyone,” he says. “Umm, this one is going to be pretty unstructured. We’ve been gearing up for finals so our brainpower is in limited supply.”

“Can’t wait for graduation,” Harley says, slumping forward and propping his chin in his hand. “Wanna remember what it’s like to feel like a real human person.”

“Same,” Peter says. His eyes unfocus for a moment but then he shakes his head and continues, “But yeah, we thought we’d just respond to questions from the comment section today. Hopefully next week we’ll have some new content but uh, yeah. Harley?”

“Right.” Harley picks up his phone off the tabletop and frowns at it while scratching his cheek with the hand propping his chin. “Right. So the first question, you guys are so cute. Relationship goals, blah blah—,”

_“Thank you,”_ Peter says emphatically to the camera followed by a sharp side-eye at Harley.

“Oh yeah, thanks. We totally are. Umm, the question reads, ‘What is the best thing that’s come out of your relationship. What’s the worst?’ That was submitted by,” he smirks, “spidey-fan3000.”

“Well the first part is obvious, I think. That’d be each other, right?”

“Yeah, obviously. The worst though… I think the worst part is getting kept up until three in the morning by a procrastinating—,”

“Hey! I’ve been busy!”

Harley smiles, soft and fond, and takes Peter’s hand again. “I know, darlin’. I’m just teasin’. What about you?”

“The worst thing that’s come out of our relationship?” Peter says. He pulls a face. “That’s easy. It’s that I— Ugh. I can’t say it.”

A mischievous grin splits Harley’s face, energizing him. He sits up a little straighter. “I think I know. Do I know?”

Peter pouts at him and says nothing.

Harley’s grin widens, showing teeth. “Peter listens to country now.”

“No!” Peter argues scooting to the edge of his seat. “Not _all_ country! Just… a select few… there’s a couple—,”

“The ones I sing.”

“Shut up. You’re so freaking _smug_ I can’t stand it.”

Harley laughs and then turns back to his phone, a smile still curling his lips and lighting his eyes. “Ookay, second question was sent in by CapnCronch69.”

“Nice,” they say in unison.

“Thanks, CapnCronch69. They ask, ‘Now that the Starks have a kid and you’re graduating, are you going to move into your own place?’”

They look at each other.

“We’ve thought about it,” Peter says slowly.

“Morgan can be a lot,” Harley adds, seemingly just as hesitant to confirm anything.

“Sometimes we feel like Mr. Stark and Pepper might like a little more space.”

“And to be honest we’d like more space sometimes too.”

“We haven’t decided yet though,” Peter says. “We’re just… taking it a day at a time, I guess. So we’ll see.”

“If we move we won’t have a lab five minutes away anymore,” Harley points out.

Peter huffs a laugh. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?”

“Okay, question number three.” Harley grins. “LegacyofIr0n asks, ‘Peter, what’s it like to date a famous superhero?’”

He grins over at Peter as Peter rolls his eyes.

“Overrated.”

There’s a _whoosh_ off-camera and both of their heads swivel toward it.

“Morgan!” Peter exclaims, lurching to his feet and hurrying out of frame. “What are you doing down here, peanut? It’s supposed to be nap time, baby girl.”

“I’m not a baby!” a little voice insists. “Daddy says I’m his queen. Queens aren’t _babies,_ Petey.”

Harley snorts.

“Lee-Lee!” Morgan shrieks.

“Ga-ga!” Harley returns.

A juice box is set on the table by a small pudgy hand, then the crown of a brunette head skitters along the table toward Harley. He scoops her up into full view of the camera in all her pink and white Spider-Woman footie-pajama glory and nuzzles his nose against hers.

She returns the greeting enthusiastically, scrunching her nose and grinning wide enough to accentuate her full cheeks before throwing her arms around his neck. “Don’t let Petey make me go back to bed. I’m not sleepy and asides, I’m too old for naps!”

“Don’t worry, Ga-Ga. I won’t let that old stinker be mean to you.”

“Harley!” Peter comes back into frame, face screwed up like he’s trying to be stern but is fighting back a smile.

“But you’re only three—,” Harley continues, acquiescing.

“Nooo!” Morgan releases his neck and throws herself backward, only Harley’s grip keeping her from plummeting to the floor. “I thought you wanted to be my fav’rite.”

Peter’s jaw drops with a pop. “You said _I’m_ your favorite.”

Harley bursts out laughing. “Ga-Ga,” he says, “have you been playing us against each other? That’s not nice.” He whispers in her ear just loud enough for the camera to pick up, “I’m so proud.”

“Stop being a bad influence,” Peter orders. “Ugh, this episode is such a mess. We’re going to have to redo it from the top. Come on, Queen Morguna. I’m pretty sure dad said something about watching Nemo this afternoon.”

“NEMO!”

She reaches her arms out to Peter and he lifts her from Harley with a pointed look at him then carries her out of frame.

“How come I’m not your favorite?” Peter’s soft question is barely audible.

“You made me eat broccoli!” Morgan shrieks.

“So? Remember when Lee-Lee made you change out of your favorite pajamas just cuz you got pudding on them?”

“That’s why Dum-E’s my fav’rite.”

Harley chuckles as their voices fade, watching them leave with a soft expression. Alone in the room, he reclines back and kicks his feet up onto the tabletop. It shudders and the forgotten juice box topples to the floor with a wet splat.

“Ah crap,” he mutters, heaving himself to his feet and striding out of frame.

There’s a blip in the recording and then he’s back with a towel in hand. He drops to a knee as another _whoosh_ happens off-camera.

“NO!”

Harley jerks, looking up, clearly bewildered. “What in the—,”

“No!” Peter stomps into frame. “You don’t get to do that! _I_ was going to do that!”

“Wha—,” Harley looks down then does a double-take at his knee on the floor. He jerks his head up, eyes wide with understanding, and blurts, “Oh my God. Peter, I’m not proposing.”

Peter goes still and his face turns beet red. “Wha— Bu— Then why are you on one knee?!”

“I was cleaning up Morgan’s juice.” Harley rises to his feet, a slow smile crawling over his face. He sets the towel on the table and in a low tone, asks, “When were you plannin’ on proposing to me, darlin’?”

“Oh my God.” Peter turns away, putting his face in his hands. “Stop it, stop it! Just forget this ever happened. We’ll… We’ll redo the recording. I’m deleting this whole video and we’re never speaking of this again.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harley moves in front of him, now half-out of the frame, and puts his hands on Peter’s hips, looming over him. “Fess up. You looooove me. You wanna maarrrryy me.”

“Not anymore.” He tries to back away but Harley matches him step for step. “I can’t _stand_ you.”

“C’mon Petey Pie,” Harley wheedles. “What was your plan? A picnic under the stars? Romantic getaway? A casual dinner at home?”

Peter glares up at him, his face still impressively pink. “Stop. Stop trying to guess. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Oh my God, you were totally going to cheese it up. Go full ham.”

Peter’s face turns impossibly redder and his voice is strained and quiet when he says, “Harley, please.”

“Okay, okay,” he says but he doesn’t stop grinning even as he places a kiss on Peter’s forehead. “I’m bein’ nice, starting now.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Peter whines.

Harley chuckles and wraps his arms around him. Peter’s forehead thumps softly against his chest and his arms wrap around Harley’s waist.

They’re quiet for a beat as they hold each other.

“You know I’m gonna say yes, right?” Harley asks softly.

“Well, I was hoping,” Peter mumbles, muffled and barely audible. “Wasn’t gonna ask until after graduation.”

Harley presses another kiss to the top of his head and says into his hair, “I’m not in a hurry. I already told you I’m in it for the long haul.”

“I know.”

“Are you still gonna do the askin’ or should I start plannin’ somethi—,”

Peter pulls back just far enough to glare up at him and says, “Don’t you dare.”

Harley laughs. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to it then.” He rests his forehead against Peter’s and says softly, “I love you.”

Peter relaxes against him and says, “I love you too.”

There are a few beats of comfortable quiet and then Harley says, “If you do a public proposal I’ll say no on principle.”

“I wouldn’t—,”

“Also, no fireworks. I’m not gonna celebrate our engagement in the hospital because you fudged the pyrotechnics.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a dick.”

“Get used to it, sweetheart.” He squeezes him tight and belts out in a loud sing-song voice, “I wanna spend the rest of my life! With you by my side! _Foreeverr and eevveeeeer!”_

Peter wiggles out of his grip and glares but its potency is ruined by the smile on his lips. “You’re the worst.” He stalks out of frame.

“Hey, where’re you going? You’re leavin’ me to clean up after you? Is this what I have to look forward to?”

“Get used to it, _sweetheart._ I have revisions to make. We can record later.”

Another _whoosh_ signifies his exit.

A second _whoosh_ announces his return.

“You’re still on the hook for a movie and ice cream! Don’t think I forgot!”

A final _whoosh_ and Harley stands alone in the middle of the room. For a handful of seconds, he simply stands, staring in the direction Peter left with a content smile. Then his eyes flick to the camera and his smile morphs into a smirk. He approaches and leans close, now with a full grin.

In a hushed tone, he says, “Have a nice night y’all. ‘Til next time.”

The screen goes black.

~ **After the Credits** ~

“HARLEY JAMES KEENER, WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP CONGRATULATING ME ON OUR ENGAGEMENT?!”

“Oh shit.”

“I’M GOING TO _KILL YOU!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨Happy✨Serotonin✨Wednesday✨
> 
> I'm feeling all of the emotions. This is it. The final chapter 🥺 It feels good to check that completed checkmark but... I'll miss you guys. I have more stuff coming! Subscribe if you want to be notified about it! Or, follow me on tumblr @sarah-sandwich!
> 
> Shout out to ShadeRose for writing Ready Now and inspiring the not-proposal at the end! That wouldn't have happened without her. You can read Ready Now here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748515
> 
> Also! I'm posting outtakes as a separate fic within this series. Those of you who follow me on tumblr may recall me making a big stink about having to scrap the 2nd half of my outline and start over because it was too similar to real life and was bumming me out lmao Because of that I had to cut out a bunch of stuff that didn't fit in the story anymore and there's some good stuff in there! So I'm posting it for your reading pleasure (and also to make me feel better about not getting to include it haha) It's 11k with a few fully fleshed-out scenes so it's worth a look even if you just skim through to the meaty chunks!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, and/or commented!!! You make it all worth it 💖 Til next time


End file.
